


Sleep Perchance to Dream

by depthsofmysol



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofmysol/pseuds/depthsofmysol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life's all about moments, of impact and how they changes our lives forever. But what if one day you could no longer remember any of them? Eames had only just found Arthur, having parted ways after the Fischer case. A new job, a new city, and an old love; life seemed almost perfect. Maybe a little bit too perfect. Now, Eames was on the verge of losing Arthur again, and the only thing that came to mind was not without a fight.<br/></p><div>
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            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Inception fic, so thanks need to go out to [eamesish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish) for all her help in getting the little things just right. Inspiration for this came from the movie, The Vow.
> 
> banner by (sol) @ the dark arts

_Seattle hadn't been my type of city in the beginning. It was cold, it was rainy, and they drove on the wrong side of the road. They also tended to prefer coffee to tea, but I was more than willing to overlook that. If only because you were here. Mumbai, London, Prague, Paris – those were the type of cities I preferred. And those were the types of cities where I'd hung my hat in the past, as you know. London and Paris, though, were the only cities where I'd actually acquired small safe houses. They worked for what they were used for and you always did prefer mine to yours; though you never really said why. I always assumed it was because of my charm, because we both know it wasn't my skills in decorating. But maybe you saw something else. Maybe you saw in me, what I saw in you. Potential. Go ahead. Laugh. You never did believe that I could be a romantic until I proved it to you one day. And even then, you had to wonder why I'd picked Paris when we both knew that I would always have a preference to London. Sure, they drove on the wrong side of the road. But there was just something about the city of lights that made it seem like a good choice. You never complained when we were forced there by – what was that corporation we'd been hired by to steal their competitor's expansion plans? I don't even remember, it's been so long._

_ It doesn't matter now. That was then, and this – this is now, I guess. You don't even remember the jobs we'd taken together. The time we ran in Prague, or when you had to save my arse in Johannesburg. Or even worse, those times we were both arrested outside of Moscow. Those were the days. You still seem to think Inception is nothing but a theory; even though myself, and Cobb, and Ariadne have tried to tell you that it's more than that. So many times we've tried to explain to you that it's actuality, and not theoretical. And all you do is look at us like we've grown two heads. You don't remember any of it. Or me, for that matter. That, I think, is what hurts the most. You look through me, instead of at me. To you, I'm nothing more than a stranger, someone who needs to prove themselves to you. I wish you could see that I've done that many times over, that I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you if that was what it took. If only you could remember me – remember us. _

_ I always saw so much in you – more than I ever said. Maybe one day you'll see that, too. Maybe one day.... _


	2. Chapter 2

The rhythmic sounds of rain hitting the roof had been what initially dragged Eames from slumber. Normally, summer meant constant sun, and warmer temperatures, depending on which part of the world he was in. In Seattle, none of that applied. The running joke in the office had been that summer never started before the fifth of July. Waking up to the sound of rain hitting their bedroom window, and knowing it was still June, according to the calender, only confirmed his suspicions. They weren't in the states, they were in London. That was definitely it, he tried convincing himself, knowing all the while it wasn't true. If he was actually back in London, a certain ex-point man wouldn't have been sound asleep next to him, his bed would have been empty, and cold. Just like his life. 

Arthur had always been the one warm spot in his life, and having him back again made living in a city that resembled his childhood home tolerable. He could only hope Arthur felt the same. Considering they'd been living together for roughly four months, and he'd yet to say anything about their arrangements, Eames took comfort in thinking that they were finally on the same page in life. Were his totem not behind him on the night stand, he would have grabbed it, and allowed his fingers to find the one groove in the poker chip that was deeper than the rest. Dream or not, he wanted to enjoy the moment for as long as it last. Which, unfortunately, wasn't very long. As nice as it was to watch him sleep, his stomach had decided on other plans. 

"Arthur, darling. It's your turn to get breakfast," he whispered in an attempt to drag him from the depths of sleep. 

Nuzzling into the crook of Arthur's neck, Eames took great pleasure in the lazy days that were their weekends. During the week, they had very little time for each other in the mornings, and what little time they _did_ have was usually spent making certain Eames hadn't left anything behind in his rush to get out the door. All of that changed once their clocks hit Saturday, and neither of them had plans for the day. Today, though, they had discussed taking one of the ferries across to Whidbey Island, and exploring the farmers market that they'd found online.

"I got breakfast last weekend," came the reply, his voice still showing signs of sleep. "I remember because you were complaining how the bakery ran out of your favourite, and I brought home something different. Nice try, though." 

Smiling against Arthur's shoulder, Eames knew it was his turn, and had hoped to have some sort of advantage by making the suggestion while he was still half asleep. Even half asleep, Arthur seemed able to remember certain details that most people only remembered when they were fully awake. Frustrating at the best of times, today there had been a particular reason why he'd wanted Arthur to leave their flat, and grab their morning meal. Tucked away in one of the drawers was a box containing a set of rings he'd had specifically made for them. 

At first glance, it looked like one, slightly oversized ring. But upon closer inspection, it was actually two, and it seemed somehow fitting. Two halves that made up a whole. The best way he could describe their relationship. Eames had decided that today he would show Arthur that he was the only one that he wanted, and that this was the only thing he wanted for however long they were alive. But to do that, he needed Arthur out of their flat. Something that was easier said than done. 

"Come on, now, love," he purred, allowing his free hand to draw circles around Arthur's chest, "I will get us breakfast for the rest of the month, if you'll do this for me, today." 

Normally, he wouldn't have resorted to begging. Normally, he would have accepted the fact he was in the wrong, and while he would have teased Arthur to no end about it, he would have just accepted it, and gone on with the rest of the day. Today hinged on getting him out of the flat, and if that meant he had to beg, than so be it. 

"You've got something planned, haven't you, Eames," came the voice, slightly condescending, "it's the only reason you would make such an offer." 

No one could ever say Arthur wasn't smart. Eames had seen it time and time again whether they'd been working together on a job, or just spending time together outside of work. 

"Alright, alright. I'll do it _this_ one time," the words weren't quite so condescending this time, and as Arthur rolled around in his arms, Eames could see the slight mischievous look that always accompanied an _addition_ to any deal they made, "but you're taking all of next month, too, because it's raining today." 

Of course he was, and wrapping his hand around Arthur's neck, returned the chaste kiss before leaning back down on his side, and watching him walk the short distance from their bed to their bathroom. 

"Anything for you, darling!" 

It was a cheeky response, but it was nothing short of the truth. Eames knew there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for his point man, and if anything meant grabbing their weekend breakfast every day for the next six weeks he would do so. Though, secretly he hoped that after today, they would find something they could do _together_ for their weekends off, instead of one of them going out to bring something back to their flat.

Hearing the door open again, Eames found his eyes travelling down Arthur's body, and wishing that he hadn't suggested the man leave him alone in their flat. Before, he'd always seen Arthur in tight fitting suits. When they first met in Seattle, it was as if that man no longer existed, and some sort of delayed college kid took his place. Today, Arthur had chosen a tight fitting navy shirt, his typical loose fitting jeans, with his red converses peeking out from the bottom of his jeans. 

"And I'm driving later, as well. You're just shit in this stuff." 

Rolling onto his back, and laughing, Eames couldn't have agreed more. While it had taken him a while to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, he'd always avoided it if he could actually help it. Especially if it was raining. Now that he was with Arthur, he'd been avoiding it more, and more lately. They rarely needed a car, unless they were travelling outside of the city centre, and on those days were there was actually the sun, they would walk wherever they needed to go. 

Today, unfortunately, they would actually need the car, and for once, he wasn't about to argue when Arthur had stated he would be driving. In all honesty, it would make things easier as all he would need to do was tie the ring around the mirror, and surprise him at one of the signals. Not the best of plans, but he couldn't honestly wait to see Arthur's reaction. If it was anything that he'd imagined in his head, it would be well worth any flack that came from him.

The sliding shut of their front door was his cue that Arthur was finally gone, and Eames rolled out of bed, making his way towards their bathroom. Momentarily, he stopped at the bookcase they'd converted into a wardrobe, and pulled out the small black box he'd hidden in one of his many stacks of clothes. He knew that Arthur wasn't the sort to snoop, and hiding it in plain sight seemed almost genius. Eames had thought about using the PASIV device tucked away in their closet, but remembered they'd both agreed to leave that part of their life behind. Some days he missed the old days – forging, and extracting information before having to run for their lives. But staring at the box in his hand, Eames knew their old life was what made this moment impossible. Their new life was the future, and the silver case would forever stay hidden, and locked away. 

Sighing contently, he grabbed the clothes from their respective shelves, and stuffed the black box into his jeans pocket, grateful he'd already tied the ring onto some black cord he'd found around their flat. Even though today was going to be a big day, he didn't feel quite as nervous as he expected to be. Maybe it was because they'd both settled into this new life relatively easily, and this was just the next step in their journey together. Or maybe he'd just known all along that Arthur was the one for him, and all the others had been nothing more than distractions. Whichever it was didn't matter. Today was the day Eames would find out one way or another if he and Arthur were really on the same page, or if they were still following two different paths.

He'd decided before climbing out of bed that today's shower would be a cold one, and having kept to his word, Eames stepped out to the sound of Arthur's voice announcing that he'd returned from gathering their breakfast. Perfect timing, as he'd decided they weren't sticking around the flat to eat, that they would eat on the ferry. If Arthur asked why, he would come up with some sort of excuse. Or better yet, he just wouldn't answer. Eames already knew that Arthur suspected something, and just dragging him out of their flat would keep him suspecting. He just hoped he hadn't already figured out the exact details. It had taken him days to put together a plan that would make this day something unforgettable. Or at least he had hoped it would be. Not even their friends knew. Which in and of itself, was a miracle. 

"What do you say, love," he started to say, throwing his t-shirt over his head as he walked, and talked, "to taking this with us, and eating on the trip over. I mean why waste a good portion of the morning just sitting here, when we could be exploring." 

Seeing Arthur all wet from the rain made walking into their kitchen all the better. It was still strange to see him so – casual, relaxed, and almost carefree. No one would have ever believed him had he told them that _this_ was the man who used to wear nothing but the finest suits. 

"It'll be fun, you'll see, Arthur," he added, slipping on his shoes, and grabbing his jacket, before looping his arm through Arthur's and dragging them both back through their front door.

The perks of living in a converted warehouse meant they were the only ones who lived on the floor. And with the security that was in the building, they always knew when they had a visitor. It probably didn't help that they'd both made secret upgrades in an attempt to make their flat a little bit more secure than the others. Eames put it down to a job hazard, and even though they were no longer in the dream sharing world, there were still some things they couldn't quite shake themselves of. Extra security being one of them. 

"You've definitely got something planned." 

Glancing over, he could see the curiosity, and the accusatory looks he usually got when Arthur wasn't in on something. Eames was used to them, and once the elevator hit the garage level, lead them out, and towards where Arthur's Jeep was parked. 

"You never go to this much effort usually, which means I'm probably not going to like whatever it is you've got up your sleeve." 

Laughing, he continued to lead them towards the dark green Jeep that was parked in the only spot allocated for their flat. Eames had a car as well, but tended to leave it at work, as he had little use for it, and parking was already paid at the building by his employer. 

"I promise, darling, you are going to love this. And if you don't, feel free to take out your disappointment in however you see fit." 

Though, he was quite certain Arthur wasn't going to be disappointed. In the four short months they'd been living together, and the six months they'd been together, he'd yet to truly disappoint his point man. They'd had their fights like any other couple, but none that lead to the other walking out of their flat in anger. Eames had made Arthur promise that they would never walk out if the other was angry, that they would always find a way to work through things. And oddly enough, he'd agreed to it without any sort of hesitation. _That_ was when Eames had known that this time would work, when all the others wouldn't.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Eames. And I think I know exactly how, too." 

Their banter was something he'd missed when they both parted ways after the Fischer job. Eames knew he wouldn't be disappointed. There was absolutely no way he could be upset, or angry with him. Not when he saw the reasoning behind why he'd dragged them both out of their flat. 

"You always do, Arthur," he teased, slipping into the passenger side of the Jeep. 

Another thing that had taken time getting used to was which side of the car he needed to get into. Arthur had found it quite amusing the first few times he'd tried to slide into what would have been the passenger side were they in England, and ended up in the drivers side. Now, it was almost second nature as to which side he would walk around to. As they pulled out of the building's garage. Eames mentally went over the route they would need to take to get to the motorway. There was one street in particular that had an extra long light, and it would make the perfect place for him to hang the ring from the mirror. It was also one of his least favourites as it was a steep, downhill slope, and the rain would make the road even slicker. Eames was determined, though, and while there was always a chance of something happening, he knew the chance to be slim. 

"You're awfully quiet over there. Should I be scared of whatever it is you're planning?" 

"Have I _ever_ done anything like that, Arthur? Really?" 

Eames hated that his nerves were showing through, and knew that if he didn't get it over soon, he would spoil the rest of the trip for them.

Reaching into his pocket, he slipped the black box free, and quietly opened it up. If he hadn't been nervous before, Eames was definitely nervous now, and was grateful that Arthur tended to concentrate on driving when they were both in the car. As he slipped the ring from the box, and shut it close, he meticulously slipped it over the mirror, noticing that they'd stopped at the signal that he had wanted to use to make his proposal. His timing couldn't have been more perfect, and clearing his throat, Eames sat, and waited to see just how Arthur would react. 

"Eames, what are – is that – are you –"


	3. Chapter 3

"Mister Eames, you've been in an accident. Do you know where you are?"

"Eames, not mister," came the rather pained reply, "and yes, I'm in a hospital." 

Sarcasm probably wasn't the best way to answer the question, but hearing the chuckle from the doctor, it wasn't the worst they'd ever heard. She'd said he'd been in an accident, but he didn't remember anything of the sort. The only thing he remembered was asking Arthur – 

"Arthur? Where is he? We were – " 

"Calm down. "

The gentle, yet constant, pressure of the doctor's hand against his shoulder, was a reminder of just what he felt about hospitals, and the doctors within them. They never brought anything good, and were a constant reminder of their own lives – life and death – that were constantly hanging by nothing more than a thread. Eames had always avoided them wherever possible, stealing supplies when they needed them. On those rare occasions where it was a necessity, he tended to find someone he could not only trust, but could be paid off, to pretend that they were never there. He could have always forged something, if they really needed it. It was just the questions that tended to come, those questions they couldn't answer without giving away the nature of their work, that kept them from actually going through with something like that. Whatever injuries they'd received on the job, they would take care of themselves. It was how it had always been. It was how it was going to be; even though they'd gone legit, some habits just refused to die.

"We're running some tests, and once we're done, you can go and see him."

The doctor's words weren't exactly comforting. Whether it was the tone in which they were said, or the actual words themselves, Eames couldn't quite figure out. Running tests, though, never meant anything good, and he wanted – no, he had to know just what was going on with Arthur. 

"And when will that be," the annoying tone was one he tended to use a lot, and one that tended to hide his true feelings. Arthur could always see right through it, and were he there, would know exactly what to say. But he wasn't, and he felt a large part of him was missing, a part of him that he hadn't ever realized was gone, until it was almost too late. 

"Once you sign these papers, you're free to go. You're very lucky, Mister Eames. A few bruised ribs, and some minor cuts. It could have been much worse." 

Again with the mister. That was his bastard of a father, not himself. Arthur only got away with it because of their close – friendship? No, they'd always been more than that. But what? Lovers never really came close to describing things, as it had always been one offs in whichever country they were in. For a man who had, as he would endlessly tease, no imagination, Arthur always had a way with words. 

"And when can I see Arthur?" 

Eames refused to let them just shuffle the point man off to some room. Not before they told him where he was, and what _exactly_ was wrong with him. 

"Once they've made certain he's stable, you can see him. He'll be up on the fourth floor. If you have any friends, or family, that can sit with you tonight, I would suggest calling them." 

That was not what Eames had wanted to hear. When someone makes the suggestion that they should call friends, or family, it usually means that the worst has happened. And at that moment, all he could think of was that Arthur, his point man, was on death's door. 

"Just – take it easy. You'll be sore for more than a few days, and if there are any problems, just let us know. "

He didn't care about his own injuries. On the job, he'd been injured far worse, and had somehow survived. This was nothing more than a scratch, in comparison to some of the others he'd received. "Not to worry, love," he told the doctor, making certain they understood that his first priority was to find Arthur. After that, he would call Cobb, and Ariadne, and then possibly Saito. Depending on just how bad Arthur was hurt, he might need to take some time off of work. 

"Just hand over my things, and I'll be out of your hair." 

Eames already knew there'd be little left of the clothing he'd had on when they left their flat that morning, and was grateful for the set of scrubs that they'd handed over along with a plastic bag full of his belongings. Having already spotted his totem, there was one last thing he _needed_ to find. Searching through his things, his fingers habitually traced over the poker chip, unconsciously making certain they were in reality. One down, one to go, he thought, his hands still meticulously searching through the bag. 

The _instant_ his fingers touched the cool metal, he breathed out in relief. He didn't even remember holding his breathe, until just that moment. Eames knew he'd never gotten any sort of answer from Arthur, but no one else did. It was the perfect con. Even though the guilt was going to eat right through him, it had to be done. Until his point man was safely out of the hospital, he would pretend that they were husband, and husband, and hope no one from the hospital asked any questions.

After changing, and once again running his fingers along the poker chip, the next thing that had to be done was contact the others. Eames had already decided to place the rings around his neck, mostly for safe keeping. If anyone asked, he could just play it off. Though, he was certain no one would probably ask. In the time he'd been in Seattle, no one really asked about his private life, and he rarely ever brought it up. The only time it was relevant, were those few times they went out with Arthur's friends. Otherwise, no one ever said anything. 

And it was exactly how he'd wanted it to be. Getting out of the dream share world had been hard enough, and he was certain they still had enemies. Keeping their lives private was just safe for everyone around them. If only it had worked. Sighing, he grabbed the mobile, which amazed him, being that it was in one piece and working, and sent out texts to Cobb, Ariadne, and Saito. He'd thought about Yusuf, but the last he'd heard, the man was comfortable in Mombasa, working on some somnacin variants. If he needed their former chemist, he would make the call himself. But for now, he would deal with those he considered friends, and his boss. 

When he heard his phone beep, his heart skipped a beat. Eames hadn't expected such a quick reply, and looking down, found it was from Ariadne. She told him she had some sort of exam, and would be at the hospital later that night. He'd forgotten that their young architect had used her part of the money they'd earned from inception, and returned to school. The last place he honestly expected her to be was somewhere so close, but where else would she have been? An unexpected laugh came from him, as he thought Cobb would be the first to arrive, and not Ariadne. Their former architect was someone he'd been friends with for a long time, and Ariadne was just someone he'd met during the Fischer job. Finding out the latter would be there before the former was, somehow, amusing. 

Though, the looks from those waiting to get into the lift told him otherwise. All he could do was shrug his shoulders, and tuck the phone back into the pocket of his pants. Eames had never been one for scrubs, but he had to admit they were at least comfortable. And they would work until he could find some time to return to their flat, and pick up some of his own clothes. Stepping out onto the fourth floor, he was quickly reminded just why he hated hospitals. Rooms, full of people hooked up to machines, and the smell of antiseptic, and life barely clinging on, filled his nose, and were it not for Arthur, he would have turned around and marched right back out. He was already certain that his face, already cut from the accident, had gone pale. 

"Sir? Are you o – "

"Fine. I'm just," the words came out far quicker than he would have liked, but they got his point across. "I'm looking for Arthur. I was told he'd be up here," which, of course, he had. Eames just loathed the idea of actually looking for whatever room they'd stuck him in. 

"And your are?"

"Husband. Which room?" 

The time, in his opinion, for niceties was over with. Eames had a hatred of hospitals, and all he'd wanted was to find his point man, and make certain he was still very much alive. 

"All the way down at the end of the hall, and on the left."

He didn't even bother to wait for the rest of her instructions, before he walked right past her, and towards the end of the hall. They had to run tests, they'd told him, he was lucky to be alive, he remembered. It still said nothing about Arthur, or his condition. And walking into his room, his heart skipped yet another beat. Eames had seen Arthur in many different states; some pleasant, and some – not so pleasant. None of it could have prepared him for the sight before him. 

"Oh, darling," his words came out barely a whisper, and he didn't hesitate in rushing towards Arthur's side, dropping into the chair he'd dragged closest to the bed. 

He could handle the tubes, and wires, and the rest of the hospital equipment. It was the sight of his point man's broken, and bruised, body that pained him. This was not how he'd wanted their day to end, and had it not been for the fact that they'd had plans, he would have suggested they stayed home, instead of dare the inclement weather. 

"Arthur, Arthur. If only you could see yourself." 

Wrapping his hands over Arthur's, he brought them up, and gently kissed each of the point man's fingers, hoping that somewhere he could actually feel him. It was also for his own reassurances. Arthur was alive, and Eames knew that he'd eventually come to. It was all just a matter of time. Time was something, thanks to dream sharing, they knew far too well. Patience, unfortunately, was not something he was good at. He could be, if he absolutely had to. But if not? He'd rather know right then and there, instead of having to wait. 

Which, oddly enough, reminded him of the first time he'd seen Arthur. That day, when he'd walked outside of his building for the first time, and spotted him across the street, walking as if he hadn't a care in the world. Closing his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to return to that day, hoping that maybe when he awoke, the nightmare would be over, and Arthur would be his once again.

_There were days, Eames still couldn't believe he'd actually gone legit. Dream sharing, and forging had been his way of life for so long, that he had to actually pinch himself after sending Saito the email, asking about anything he might have that required his particular skill set. After the Fischer job, after they'd all gone their separate ways, he'd returned to Mombasa, and his life, taking full advantage of any tourists that he could find. It wasn't quite as exciting as dream sharing, but it at least gave him something to do. And, he knew there would still be the occasion jobs that required his other talents. They would just be few and far between._

_Or they would be far more dangerous. Eames knew they'd set the bar high, and that any other job would either be just as dangerous, or even worse. Cobb had decided to get out, and spend his days raising the kids. Arthur, if he remembered right, took some personal time, and after that, became almost impossible to track. Though, he'd had his methods, and always knew where to find him if he needed to. Ariadne – sweet, innocent Ariadne. The last he'd heard, she had returned to school. State-side, this time._

_His life would, and always be, that of a forger. And a thief. But the forging part was one he took the most pride in. Anyone could pick a pocket, but not everyone could forge something as intricate as an employment contract, or even a last will and testament. Those had been his finest work, and something he could look back on with pride. And he would. They were one of the few things that would keep him going when he wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was time to get out. And having Saito's standing offer of real employment hadn't helped, either._

_That was why he'd found himself in Seattle. That was why he found himself working for a small corporation, dealing with rare, and expensive artefacts, and helping them decide whether or not they were real, or a forgery. It was child’s play, in all honesty. But it gave him something new to do, something that might actually do some sort of good. Not that he'd ever cared about it in the past. But he could change? Right?_

_Doubtful, he mused, walking out into the dreary, cold Seattle weather. Why Saito had sent him here, he hadn't a clue. It reminded him far too much of London, and less like the warmth he'd come from. It didn't help that they drove on the wrong side of the road, and drank coffee, instead of tea. It was hell. Not limbo, but hell. And he'd willing agreed, knowing it was either this, or risk ending up dead, in some warehouse, hooked up to a PASIV. At least the culinary fare was tolerable._

_Eames wasn't quite sure what he would have done, had he not found the little Thai restaurant close to the building where he'd worked. The food wasn't exactly like what he'd had in Thailand, but it was close. And it felt strangely homey. Which was more than his hotel room could say. Eventually, he'd have to find a place of his own, but staying at a hotel was more familiar. He'd spent far more time in a hotel room, than he ever had at his numerous safe houses._

_Pulling up the collar of his coat, it was something he could deal with another time. His stomach had been loudly complaining most of the morning, and now that he had some free time, it was time to make certain he could go the rest of the afternoon without having to worry. Just as he stepped out from the cover of the building, and into the mass of people, his eyes were caught by something all too familiar. Eames hadn't seen Arthur is months? Or was it years? It had been far too long, whatever the time frame. And yet, he could still recognize him._

_Though, he had to admit his new look suited him. Instead of the slicked back hair, and perfectly tailored suits, he was wearing jeans, and – was that an actual t-shirt? He'd rarely seen the point man in anything so – casual. It had actually taken him by surprise, and even though he knew he was blocking traffic, he couldn't quite take his eyes off him. Arthur had always been something special to him, had always had a place in his heart. Although, no one really knew it. No one, outside of their little group, that was. Yes, they'd had their flings, and spent more than a few nights together. But that was it. Nothing more concrete than that. They couldn't afford to be seen together, let alone be caught in bed together. Their lives, unfortunately, were too dangerous._

_But what was he doing in Seattle? When had he gotten there? It was far too much for him to think about. Especially on his mostly, empty stomach. Blinking his eyes, the man was gone. Just like that. Had Arthur spotted him? Or had it been a trick of the eyes? Eames wasn't quite sure. And not knowing was going to eat him alive._

_The next day, he'd left the office at the exact same time, hoping to once again spot Arthur. Unfortunately, he was no where to be seen, and Eames had dragged himself off to lunch, just a little disappointed. He knew there had to be some sort of pattern. It was just a matter of figuring it out. Unless, the point man had taken lessons from their time in the dream share, and never used the same route twice. He knew better than to actually count on running into him again, and while he'd left a little later than usual, was pleasantly surprised to see Arthur walking down the street._

_Unlike last time, when he'd been surrounded by friends, he was alone, and looked to be deep in thought. The grin that formed was one Eames rarely used, and knowing Arthur would probably kill him for it, made a point of stepping right into his path. The impending collision was one he'd been waiting a long time for, and would be worth whatever ire he drew from the point man._

_"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't – What are you doing here?"_

_"Hello to you, too, Arthur."_

_The confusion that crossed Arthur's face was quickly replaced by anger, and Eames knew he deserved it. He'd willingly walked into his path, and made it known that they were now in the same city._

_"I'm working, darling. Imagine my surprise when I see we're actually in the same city."_

_"Working? You mean one of your jobs?"_

_He couldn't blame Arthur for the accusations. As far as everyone knew, he was still in the dream sharing business. He'd actually asked Saito not to make it known he'd gone legit. Just in case, of course. He wasn't going to turn down a job just because he'd found something else to do._

_"No, actually, I'm working at one of Saito's companys. Let me buy you lunch, and we can catch up."_

_And that was how things went. Every other day, give or take, they would have lunch, and catch up. It had taken months to actually convince Arthur he'd gone legit, and this wasn't just some phase. And the pay-off was one Eames couldn't have expected. Their lunch dates had turned into dinner dates, and those dinner dates had turned into spending their weekends together – either at his hotel, or the small flat Arthur had rented nearby._

_"If we're going to be doing this – whatever this is – regularly, we should probably consider getting a place."_

_"You mean – together? Like properly living together, Arthur?"_

_Before, they'd never even talked about living together, let alone being anything more than close friends. But now – now he was asking him to take the next step, and he wasn't sure if he was dreaming, or if it was reality. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the poker chip in his pocket, and felt the groove that was deeper than the others; which meant this was definitely reality._

_"Unless, that's just asking too much for you, Eames."_

_"No – no. I – just wasn't expecting it. That's all."_

_And in all honesty, he wasn't. But making that sort of leap wasn't a bad thing? Was it?_

_"Actually, darling, that's a brilliant idea. And we can start looking tomorrow."_

Hearing the rustling of someone in the room, Eames immediately woke up, his hand going for a gun that wasn't there. Once his eyes focused, he realized he had been about to shoot a nurse, someone that was supposed to take care of Arthur. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Just needed to check his vitals."

"S'okay, love. Just wasn't expecting it. That's all." 

It couldn't hurt to at least be nice to the staff. He had a feeling he was going to be spending a lot of time there, and making enemies of the nurses wouldn't do him, or possibly Arthur, any good. Once she'd left, though, he laid his head down on the bed, and kept his point man's hand close by. 

"Oh, Arthur, you would have laughed had you seen what I about did," he confessed, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb, "just – I need you, darling. And I love you. Please come back to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry all for the lateness in this update! Damn real life got the better of me. Hopefully, though, it's worth the wait. And Happy Inception Day!! (Even though there is only 8 minutes left of it where I am.)


	4. Chapter 4

Before, the sound of his mobile usually meant one of two things: trouble, or a job offer. The latter wasn't something he had to worry about, and before today, the former wasn't either. Before, he wouldn't have even hesitated to look, knowing that his usual curiosity would eventually get the better of him. Before, he wouldn't have even thought about settling down, and going _legit_. To anyone else, it might have seemed like another lifetime ago, or worse, a really bad nightmare. Some might have even thought of it as some sort of story, a tale being played out in the pages of dreams. Life had changed. 

More importantly, _he_ had changed, having finally decided to go after what he'd wanted, having finally decided to properly pursuit Arthur. Everything that had been his life, everything that had been normal to Eames, wasn't. He wasn't the sort to believe in happy endings, and all that bollocks. He wasn't some sort of child, someone who _needed_ that sort of thing. Yes, he was a romantic at heart, and probably always had been; the realist in him knew, knew, that there was no such thing as a happy ending. 

At least not with a little work. And worked he had, proving almost every day that the façade of being flirtatious, of sleeping with anyone and everyone, was nothing more than that – a mask, something he could hide behind, something that was easy enough for him to slip into and no one dared asked questions. Life was supposed to have been better, supposed to have been the two of them living out some sort of quiet life. 

It wasn't supposed to have been this, and ignoring his mobile, the constant reminder of just what life had turned into, wouldn't fix anything. If anything, it was bound to make things worse, and dragging himself from the dreamless, albeit short sleep he'd somehow fallen into, dragged the device from his pocket. His eyes glanced over the short message, something about Ariadne and Cobb being downstairs waiting for him, and turned his attention back towards Arthur. _His_ Arthur. Were it not for the bruises, the bandages, and the machines keeping track of his life, he actually looked peaceful, as if he were sleeping. Eames had seen him look like this each and every time he woke up before the point man. 

Now, though, things were different. The doctors had told him they had no idea when he would wake up, just that it could be a day, or a week. He refused to think that he wouldn't ever wake up. Arthur was stronger than that, and he had to have faith, whatever that was, that his point man would eventually wake up. They'd survived numerous situations, some far more dangerous than this, and had always come through unscathed. Or, at the very least, bruised, and battered. But always, _always_ alive. This was just another one of those situations, and eventually, Arthur would wake up. 

Until that time, it was probably best that he go and talk with the friends – no, colleagues – he'd texted soon after they'd officially released him from the hospital. Friends seemed too, personal, too close to home. In their line of work, friends tended to be a weakness, a link that could be used as a means to an end. But maybe that was what they were, maybe, at this particular moment, that was what he _needed_.

Eames had absolutely no idea what he'd say, his thoughts having spent the majority of the time focused on Arthur, and the image of the driver that had hit them from behind. The detectives had shown him a grainy picture taken from one of the cameras at the intersection, and while it had been easy for him to say he'd never seen the man, in the back of his thoughts, the name was crystal clear – Lucas Williams. He couldn't think about him, though, knowing that his desire for revenge would eventually outweigh his desire to make certain the point man was going to be okay. Once he knew Arthur was out of the woods, all bets were off, and the would _both_ hunt down the extractor. It was only fair, that they both had the pleasure of exacting their revenge. 

Feeling the familiar vibration of his mobile, Eames was tempted to toss the damn thing out the window, wondering just _when_ they'd gotten so impatient with him. Dragging it from his pocket, the message that flashed on the screen wasn't what he'd been expecting. He hadn't remembered telling Saito about the accident, and yet there it was, proof that somehow the man had found out, and told him he hadn't worry about anything, that it was all taken care of. Not everything, he knew, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about anything involving the hospital. 

"Seems like we're still Saito's investments," his words were tinted with humour, and worry, "alas, Cobb and Ariadne are waiting on me, and I shouldn't keep them waiting. You and I both know what Dom is like when he's kept in the dark, don't we, love?" 

He had no idea if talking to Arthur would help, or if it made him look like some sort of lovesick fool. And in all honesty, he didn't care. It took his mind off of his surroundings, and forcing himself to stand, was quickly reminded that his body had sustained injuries as well. Not as severe as Arthur's, of course, but enough to remind him that he would need to find some place else to sleep or nap during those times he wasn't just sitting around. 

Giving the point man one, longing look, Eames hastily left the room, forcing the thoughts of death, and disinfectant from his mind. Sitting in the point man's room had temporarily allowed him to forget about his feelings, about the fact they were stuck in the hospital, and just how much he loathed it. He wasn't even sure Arthur knew just how powerful his hatred of the place was, and once he woke up, Eames had decided to tell him that this was the _last_ time they were going to spend time in one. 

At least the lift was relatively peaceful. He knew he probably looked far worse than he felt, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to engage him in conversation, or worse, ask him questions that he could rattle off answers to automatically. Eames didn't need, nor want, that type of distraction. The one thing he needed was the one thing that he couldn't have – the distraction of trying to find the man behind it all. That would come in time, he reminded himself, and upon hearing the lift doors slide open, eased himself out into the lobby, wondering if maybe Ariadne and Cobb had already left in frustration. He knew their young architect wouldn't have left, but Cobb had a family, two young kids, and a life. He couldn't have said the same thing about Ariadne.

"Eames!"

His eyes scanned the large area, a mix of a lobby, and a waiting room, and spotted the architect, hidden amongst the other visitors. Standing next to her was Cobb, and then his eyes laid on someone he hadn't honestly expected. Eames had figured Yusuf was still back in Mombasa, working on the latest version of somnacin. Seeing him standing next to the others had thrown him off, momentarily, and while he could fake a smile with just about anyone, those three made it a bit more difficult. 

"You look like shit."

Eames knew she was teasing, and had even laughed in response, knowing full good and well it was going to hurt. But he also knew it was the truth. 

"Thank you, Ariadne. I assure you I look worse than I feel." 

He'd yet to honestly look in a mirror, but if Arthur was anything to go by, he probably looked like he'd gone a few rounds and lost. Cobb, surely, knew he'd been through worse. The one job they'd pulled in Corsica, with Mal, they'd all ended up spending more than a few days laid up in bed. This was nothing more than a bump in the road. 

"How's Arthur?"

Leave it to their former extractor to bring up that particular subject. Eames knew Arthur and Cobb had been close, and had worked together on jobs long before he'd been brought in. He also knew they were friends before they'd gotten into dream sharing. This was information he knew, and hearing Dom bring it up brought up something he could only describe as jealousy. Eames wasn't jealous, and he most definitely wasn't possessive. And yet he couldn't quite explain why that was exactly how he felt listening to his former extractor ask about their point man. 

"He's fine," he sighed, signalling that they find some place else to talk. 

Lying came easy to him. Just like forging, it didn't take a whole lot of effort. Telling them the truth, explaining that their friend, their _colleague_ was seriously injured, was harder than he could have imagined.

"Okay, he's not exactly – _fine_ ," he explained, resting his head in his hands, "they said he's got a head injury, along with a few others." 

Saying it out loud, admitting it to their friends, made it all too real. Eames was normally not a sentimental, or even an emotional person. But something about Arthur had turned him into one. Had anyone actually asked, he would have used the accident, and the fact he'd been running on adrenaline all day, as an excuse for his behaviour. Luckily, no one asked. He was quite certain it was clearly etched across his face – the worry, the concern, the fear. Head injuries were a tricky thing, and wondered if Arthur would even be the same man. From their numerous one night stands, to sharing a flat, they'd come a long way, and it honestly pained him to think that it would have all been for naught. 

"He's going to be okay, y'know."

Somewhere, Eames knew Ariadne was right. Arthur would be okay. It was just the long day taking it's toll on him. 

"Yeah, I know. It's just been one hell of a day," he told her, faintly smiling, "what time is it anyway?" 

Somewhere along the line, he'd forgotten to put his watch back on. Normally, he was pretty good at keeping track of time, knowing that one simple mix-up, and the whole team could end up dead. Now, he felt like he was running out of it, even though he knew that wasn't the case. 

"What happened, Eames? Your text didn't say much."

Running his hands up, and over his head, he sighed, knowing this particular question was bound to come up. When he looked up, Ariadne mouthed the time, and nodding his appreciation, knew the answer to that question wasn't something he knew. Yes, he knew what the cops had told him, but that was it. It was still an empty hole in his memories. Would talking about it actually help in putting the pieces together? Or would it only make things worse? He honestly had no idea.

"Cobb, come on. There's no need –"

"It's fine Ariadne. And to be honest, Dom, I haven't a clue." 

He could deal with the accusatory tone that Cobb's question had. Arthur had been there for the man so many times, it seemed as if he was finally returning the favour, protecting their point man the only way he knew how – by extracting information. Unfortunately, his answer was the truth. Mostly. Eames really didn't have any sort of idea as to what had happened, the blanks still refusing to fill in. The doctors had told him he might never remember what happened, or that they would return slowly. A part of him didn't want them to return, preferring the blanks to knowing that he could have done something to prevent it. 

"We – " 

Their lives had always been private. Even during their time as criminals, they'd always kept their personal lives separate from their jobs. It seemed – neater that way, and neither of them had ever complained. Now, he was about to share with his former team, his friends, something that had always been private. 

"We were on our way to catch a ferry, to explore some of the farmers markets across the sound, and were stopped at a signal," he explained, constantly having to remind himself to actually breathe, "the cops said we were hit from behind, pushed out into traffic, and then broadsided." 

It was the first time he'd spoken the words aloud, the first time he'd actually heard himself explain what had happened, and he found it hard to breathe. Whether it was from his injuries, or the severity of the situation, Eames wasn't quite certain. Just that his breathing finally evened out after pressure was applied to his leg. 

"Whoever hit us from behind fled the scene – " 

"You don't think it was an accident, do you?"

The look of shock was instantaneous, and looking over at Cobb, wondered when that had actually occurred to him. It had taken Eames seeing the grainy photo before he realized it was no accident, but none of the others had seen it.

"No, I don't actually. Not after the photo the cops showed me," he confessed, reluctantly. 

Accepting help, no matter who the other person was, wasn't something he would do. Not when he was more than capable of tracking the bastard down who put them both in the hospital. 

"An extractor I worked with in Nairobi. Job went south," he continued, making certain he left out the vital parts of his story, "guess he blames me, and this was his revenge." 

In return, Eames was adamant that the man would pay for what he did. Not only for himself, but for Arthur. They weren't even involved, hadn't really worked together much at that point, and yet somehow, he'd been drug into his own problems. 

"What do you need from us?"

Everything, and nothing, had been the his initial answer. He had no way home, and eventually, he would need to grab fresh clothes, and the laptop. Arthur had always been the better researcher, but he wasn't a slouch about it. He would find his former extractor, and then, he would ask for their help to plan out his revenge. 

"Nothing tonight, actually," he told him, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him, "tomorrow, maybe, I'll need to go back to the flat, and grab some clothes. Once – once Arthur's awake, I'll know more." 

His plan hinged on how the point man was, once he'd woken up, and if he wanted to actually participate. Eames knew Arthur would want to. It would be whether or not he could, physically. 

"Thanks, guys. I mean for being here," the words felt heavy, knowing it was the situation, and the emotions, that had him wanting to thank them for their presence. 

"Let us know the minute you do, okay, Eames?"

Again, he nodded towards Ariadne, and walked back towards the lift. It was going to be a long night, and eventually, he would make his way to the cafeteria for food. For now, though, he just wanted to return to Arthur, and let him know that the team was back together, ready for whatever he needed them for.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Eames, you bastard. I told you not to take any jobs with Shriver."  
  
"I know, I know. But the money was good. Did you honestly expect me to turn it down?"  
  
Four cracked ribs, and a bullet to the shoulder, and he still refused to admit that Arthur had been right. Shriver wasn't the best of point men, and while Mya was one of the better extractors, it still didn't make up for the fact they'd been set up from the very beginning. Eames still wasn't sure how he'd made it out of the abandoned building in one piece. Something told him that a certain point man had been keeping tabs on him, and had somehow pulled him out. He still wasn't about to admit he'd been wrong about the job that Arthur had warned him about. Something about not being ready to bruise what little ego he had.  
  
"I thought you had a bit more common sense. Maybe I was wrong."_

_You weren't wrong._ Those were the words that floated through his head as his eyes slowly fluttered open. Sleep tended to come in bursts. Some times, he would sleep for a few moments, other times a few hours. This particular time, if the clock on the wall was correct, he'd slept for almost eight hours. A record, given the fact that in the past twenty-four hours, he felt like he'd only slept for maybe three hours at most. And his body was complaining just as loudly now, as it had been when he'd first started his vigil. Eames had told himself he would find another place to sleep. Or at least, another bed. 

But that would have meant leaving the room, and quite possibly, returning to their flat. He wasn't sure if he was up to returning to the empty space; a space that contained memories of their life together. A life he wasn't even sure they'd be returning to. No matter what Ariadne had said, he would always see the glass as half empty, and not half full. When you spend your time in their line of work, being a pessimist tended to keep you alive far longer than being an optimist. Not that he would ever tell the young architect that. It was one of those things that you learned over time, and if she was going to stay in their world, she would need to eventually figure it out.

_Their_ world. Full of danger, and death, and somehow, they'd thought they could just disappear. How naïve had they been. All the precautions in the world couldn't have kept them safe, and looking over at Arthur, he wondered if maybe he hadn't brought this onto them himself. Eames hadn't heard anything in regards to the point man, and he knew how easy it would be for the man to just up and disappear. It was what he was good at, after all. But months after they'd found each other, months after they'd decided to be a permanent fixture in each other's lives, the world they left behind had come crashing back, a reminder that one was never truly out of the dream sharing business. 

"Maybe I shouldn't have returned."

The words came out in a painful tone, one that he rarely used. Eames wasn't one to feel guilt. What was the point? He was a criminal, a thief. Where was there room for guilt? He wouldn't have gotten as far as he had if he allowed that particular feeling to seep in. But watching Arthur, the rising and falling of his chest, he felt guilt for the first time in a very long time. The what-ifs were also starting to make their way into their thoughts. Life had been okay, no one had been in danger, and had he had just enough courage to stay away, he was quite certain none of this would have happened. He and Arthur worked well together, had made one hell of a team in the days before the Fischer job.

And then there were the nights – those times when they felt like they could afford a few moments to spend in the other's bed. They had been few and far between, but they were enough that Eames had always been left wondering if they were in any other profession, that maybe they'd actually have the opportunity to be more than just work colleagues. _That_ was why he'd decided to come out of the shadows, and work a _proper_ job. _That_ was why he'd risked it all. All in the hopes that one day he might actually find Arthur, and whatever life he'd made for himself. Leave it to Saito to have kept tabs on all of them. Even when they'd left the dream sharing world.

"What if I brought this on us, pet. What if – "

The sound of a knock on the door quickly dragged him from his thoughts. Even though he'd only been there for roughly a day, word had gotten out that Eames wasn't one to startle. He honestly felt bad for that first nurse, the one he'd made an attempt at drawing a gun on. It was just instinct, a force of habit, to protect not only himself but Arthur. He hadn't meant to startle the woman, and found her later on that night, and explained the situation. She seemed to have taken it in stride, and now, it seemed as if the whole staff knew. He probably should have felt a bit more bad about it than he did, but old habits died hard, and he'd made his peace with the woman.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you really shouldn't blame yourself."

Oh how he wished that were true. Guilt was the only thing that he could feel. Other than a sliver of hope. Eames had refused to feel anything other than guilt. It meant that should anything happen to Arthur, that he could take all the blame, and just disappear. It was what he was good at – leaving in the middle of the night, without any sort of trace. He'd promised himself, though, that he wouldn't do that this particular time, that he wouldn't just fall back onto his old habits. But why not? If he hadn't shown up, Arthur wouldn't have been laying in the hospital. If he hadn't shown up – 

"S'okay. Was just talking to – "

A movement on the bed, coupled with a strange sound from one of the machines, had Eames wondering if maybe the point man was finally coming through the other side. He watched Arthur – his hands, his eyes – anything that would give him some sort of sign that he was coming out of his prolonged sleep. This was the first positive sign he'd seen, and that part of him that was still clinging onto hope, kept begging him to push forward, to see if the Arthur he knew and love, was still the same man. He didn't – no, he couldn't think about what would happen if somehow the accident had changed him. Arthur was Arthur, and he would love him no matter what.

"Arthur?"

His words came out more of a whisper, than anything else. The nurse, who had been jotting down the point man's vital signs, rushed out of the room, mumbling something about getting the doctor. Everything – their new life together, the future – it was all resting on what happened next. Eames refused to think of anything else, and gingerly pushing himself out of the chair, moved to stand in front of Arthur. He wanted to see for himself, just what sort of damage the accident had done. Unlike most people, he could read all the little tells, all the things that people spoke unconsciously. Once the point man was awake, he would know exactly what they were going to be dealing with.

"Arthur? You've been in an accident. Do you know where you are?"

The doctor's voice permeated the silence, and were it not for his own self-control, Eames was certain her voice might have actually startled him. All he could do, though, was keep his eyes firmly planted on Arthur. The bruising around his face made him look much worse than he probably was, and it took everything in him not to reach out and comfort the man. They'd never been that sort of couple. Even before they'd decided to give things a try. Starting it now would only make things more difficult.

"Hos-hospital."

It hurt, hearing the pain-filled response from Arthur. At least he knew where he was. At least, strangely enough, Eames could take some sort of comfort in knowing that his point man was still in there. Even if he was covered in bruises, bandages, and monitoring equipment.

"That's right. Do you know who I am?"

"My doctor."

So far, so good, Eames thought, watching for any sort of sign that the Arthur he knew and loved wasn't the one laying in the hospital bed. Everything told him that he was. And yet, there was a nagging suspicion that not everything was what it seemed. But to acknowledge that would mean acknowledging his fears when he'd found out about the point man's head injury.

"Arthur?"

He hadn't meant for the nerves to show through in his question, hadn't meant his fears to be so clearly vocalized. But he had to know, had to find out if all the little things he'd seen – the questioning, almost scared look, each time their eyes met – were something more than just a figment of his imagination.

"Arthur, who am I?"  


"Aren't you one of my doctors?"

It felt as if all the air in his lungs had been sucked out, and all the colour had drained from his face, at the same time. He couldn't speak, and it had taken all his resolves, not to allow the hurt, and fear, show. One of them had to be strong, had to be the pillar throughout all of this. And if it had to be him, so be it. Eames had thought about many scenarios, when they'd told him Arthur had a head injury; but this, this was something he could have never imagined. Not with everything they'd been through. He couldn't believe that, after the dangers of their world, an accident had ripped the man he'd loved, had always loved, from him. 

"No," came his almost silent reply, still unable to look Arthur in the eyes, "no I'm not. We're – we're together, Arthur. Partners. Tell me you remember that. Please."

It hurt even more, watching the point man nod in the negative, knowing his worst fears were quickly coming to fruition. Eames wasn't even sure he could stay in the room, his emotions fluctuating from hurt, to anger, to frustration, to wanting to murder the man that made this nightmare a reality. And watching Arthur stare at him, like he was some sort of stranger, and not the man who basically given up a life of crime for, made things even worse. He wasn't sure if he could handle it all. Running from the Russian mob he could deal with. Losing someone who'd meant so much to him – it was too much, too soon.

"I'm sorry, I just – I can't," he quickly added, grabbing his things, and hastily exiting the room. 

Eames couldn't be in the same room with Arthur. Not with his conflicting emotions, and he hadn't even heard Arthur asking the doctor if he'd said something wrong. What he needed was space. He'd been tempted to return to their flat, and dig out their PASIV, but then he was reminded that they'd promised each other they wouldn't go under again. Not ever. Even though they'd started making a habit of going under once a month. They'd called it their break from the world, a time they could just enjoy each other without the hassles that came with being, what they termed, normal.

But again, that was then, back when Arthur actually remembered who he was, who they were. Everything now was different, and what they had, they'd never have again. His life, their lives, were irreparably changed, and it was time to start planning just how he was going to exact their revenger. While he'd hoped to have Arthur's involvement, knowing that the point man had no idea what had happened, and who he was, meant he could do this without having to think twice about the levels of pain he could inflict.

"Eames! Mister Eames! Wait, please!"

He had _just_ made it to the lift, when he'd heard the doctor's voice, asking him to wait. What was the point. There was nothing anyone could do, and Arthur was bound to be better off in the hands of strangers, than in the hands of someone who cared for him as much as he did. He also wanted to get as far away from the hospital as he could. Not only because of his extreme _dislike_ , but now, it represented everything that could have been. Now, though, it seemed as if he was going to be stuck inside just a little big longer. If only to give the doctor a chance to say whatever it was she seemed so desperate to say.

"I know this must be difficult, but the brain is a tricky thing."

Didn't he know that. He'd spent so much of his time traipsing around in people's heads, he knew just how precarious this situation was. But he wasn't about to explain that. No one, outside of the military, and their world, knew about dream sharing, and its endless possibilities. It was better off that way, he thought, and didn't even want to know what people would do if they got their hands on a PASIV.

"This could be temporary. Just like yours. Or, it might not. We just don't know."

Sighing, he knew the woman was right. It could be temporary. Or it could be permanent. Eames knew he at least owed Arthur to stick around, and see if he couldn't coax the memories to come forth. He just wasn't sure if he could do it. Not with the emotional toll it would take on him. They had so many memories together, and if Arthur had lost it all? He was starting to think it might be a good time to slip back into the life of a criminal forger, and just put all of this behind him. At least being a criminal meant he didn't have to deal with the feelings that kept coursing through him.

"He _needs_ you, Eames. Needs someone familiar in his life, someone who can help him try and recall the memories that are lost."

"All right. I guess – it's the least I can do."

"Good. I would suggest bringing some things from home, something that might trigger his memories."

Nodding, he dragged his mobile from his pocket, and sent off a quick text to Ariadne, asking her to come pick him up. Eames knew he could have taken one of the buses back down to SoDo, but he wanted someone to talk to, someone who might actually understand things. And Ariadne just fit the bill. The last person he honestly wanted to talk to was Cobb. His whole attitude the previous night was a constant reminder that he would never know everything there was to know about Arthur. Not like their former extractor. Dom would always be the one person who knew Arthur better than anyone else.

_We're downstairs, already. Came to see if you needed anything._

_We._ That meant there was a good chance Cobb was there. He found it hard to believe that Yusuf would have made the trip with Ariadne. Which meant he would have to deal with the man, instead of just ignoring him. Had Arthur actually remembered him, Eames was quite certain he would have had no problem being around Cobb. But now? He was actually afraid that the only person the point man would remember would be Dom. He hadn't dared ask what the last thing he remembered was. The answer was something he wasn't too sure he could deal with. Not when he couldn't even handle knowing he was nothing more than a stranger. 

After texting back a reply, and stepping into the lift, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Eames had spent many hours taking care of Arthur in the past. But nothing like this. They'd never been through anything like this before. None of them had. Mal, even when she was at her worst, knew who Dom was. Even if she believed he wasn't real, she still knew. Arthur had no clue who he was. Which hurt more than words could describe. But he'd promised the doctor he would at least try. Somewhere, underneath it all, his Arthur had to be there. It was just going to take more than usual to find him.

"Eames!"

Again, their young architect had been the one to spot him, after he'd left the lift. It had been a relatively quiet ride, and while he'd been debating between leaving for good, and sticking it out, seeing Ariadne and Cobb, the hope plastered all over their faces, knew he needed to give it all a chance. Even if he failed, at least he could say he tried.

"You look better today, at least."

"Thank you, Ariadne. I guess getting a few hours sleep will do that to a person."

Eames couldn't even look Cobb in the eye. He was still thinking about the way he'd handled their conversation the night before, how it had been more of an extraction, and less like friends holding a conversation about another one. All it would take was one wrong word, and he was quite certain he would let their former extractor know exactly how he felt. But until then, he would at least play nice. For Arthur's sake, he reminded himself. Even if the man had no idea who he was, he would at least make certain he never knew just how much strife his accident had caused.

"Is everything – "

"Can you take me back to our flat, Ariadne?"

He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now, and if possible, not ever. His emotions were still raw, and Eames didn't know how much he could say without having a complete breakdown. They'd never really seen him like that. No one had, really. No one, other than Mal. And she was dead; which meant no one had, nor would they ever see him as anything other than the put together forger and thief. 

"Of course. Yeah, sure."

"Cobb, he's awake, if you want to go see him. Fourth floor, all the way down at the end of the hallway."

There was no emotion behind his words, and Eames quickly sent a look to Ariadne that begged her not to ask any sort of questions. If she wanted to know, he would explain it once they'd left the hospital. If not, he wouldn't say anything. There honestly wasn't much he could say. Not without giving away everything he'd so carefully packed away between the fourth floor and the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this update! I kind of hit a roadblock with this story. Hopefully, I've overcome it, and updates will be more regular. I've also given you a longer than normal chapter to make up for the tardiness.


	6. Chapter 6

The days that followed were rough. Harder than he'd thought they would be, given everything he'd already been through. Saito had had Arthur moved to a private room, on a different floor, and with that, they had a little bit more privacy to talk, and work on his memories. Eames still couldn't get it out of his head; the conversation he'd walked in on between Arthur and Cobb. He'd always known they had a rather _unique_ bond. But he hadn't thought it was as close as their conversation portrayed. It felt like he was intruding on something; something he honestly had no right to be a part of. 

And yet, he was. Even if they hadn't known he was standing outside, listening to their every word. It hurt, if he were honest with himself. Listening them to chat like they were old friends, while he was nothing more than a stranger. He wondered if Arthur really would regain his memories, or was he wasting time that he could have spent tracking down Lucas. Each day he spent with the point man, was another day the extractor put more and more distance between them.

"Eames?"

"Hmm?"

He'd spent each day, after Arthur awoke, sitting in his room. Sometimes they'd talk, other times, they just sit. Before, the silence would have been comfortable. Now, it was awkward. Worse than a first day. They were, for all intents and purposes, complete strangers. Eames was trying not to think about it, to remember that he was there to help Arthur remember their life together. 

But with each passing day, he wondered if that likelihood was even possible. The doctors had kept reminding him to try, that no matter what, he had to try, that it was possible that he would remember something. But when? When would Arthur remember their life together? And what if he never did? Each day, he was finding it harder to believe that the point man would ever regain his memories.

"Can I ask you something?"

Looking up from the laptop, Eames no longer saw fear in Arthur's eyes. Those first few days he almost seemed afraid to be left alone in the same room with him. But now? Now, he saw curiosity. It was a look he'd seen the first time they'd worked together, and wondered if maybe the man's memories were coming back. He knew better than to make that assumption. But with that sort of look, the one that _his_ Arthur made, he couldn't help but get his hopes up. Even if it meant getting his heart broken in the end. In all honesty, it was already broken. He just kept it together with bits and pieces of hope, and with the knowledge that somewhere the man he loved was still in there.

"Can ask me anything you want. We never really had any secrets."

Which _technically_ wasn't true. They didn't have any huge secrets. Eames hadn't told Arthur that he was still in the criminal side of the business, and if a job came up that piqued his interests he would take it. Of course, he would take precautions, and stay away as long as necessary. But, he just couldn't see himself working a proper job for long. It just wasn't in him to do that. For Arthur, of course, he'd try. And, for the most part, he'd succeeded. Nothing had really come across his inbox, and strangely enough, he'd enjoyed working at Saito's firm. At least, until the accident. Now, all he wanted to do was track down Lucas, and make him pay. Something, he'd been keeping a secret from even Ariadne.

"Dom told me we work together. Do we – uh, do we work a lot of jobs together?"

It had been a long while since Eames had seen Arthur afraid to honestly speak his mind. Normally, the point man was confident, and never afraid to ask the difficult questions. This side of him, a side he'd never seen before, worried him. Was this what Arthur was like before they'd met? Or was there something else going on. Trying to read him was difficult, as everything he saw he would compare to the old point man. This – version – of Arthur was something he had no idea about, and it seemed unfair to compare him to the old version. Maybe, this was how he was going to be. Or maybe, this was just how he was around Eames. He seemed like his old self, or at least that was what he remembered from the conversation he overheard.

"We used to," he replied, before getting up, and closing the door to his room, "don't need anyone to _accidentally_ overhear this."

Eames was doing it to protect Arthur, more than himself. Should anyone overhear them, he had a perfectly good excuse. The point man, on the other hand? He had no idea what the man would say, if anyone asked them about their conversation. Before, he wouldn't have dared to call Arthur vulnerable. But now? He most definitely would call him that. The innocence, the fact he couldn't even ask a question without some sort of hesitation. It was a sign he was dealing with someone who was curious, but cautiously so. Someone who was _not_ the Arthur he remembered.

"You used to tell me you only worked with the best," he explained, sitting back down, "and being the best forger in the business, naturally we worked together a lot. That is when you decided to pry yourself away from Cobb."

He'd been good, and hadn't mentioned any of his ire towards the former extractor. But now, having been asked that sort of question, Eames couldn't help but let his feelings slip through. And judging by the look on Arthur's face, he'd said something that hit a nerve. It wouldn't be the first time he'd used Dom in an argument. They'd always agreed to disagree when it came to the former extractor. But now? He wasn't afraid to let the point man know that his friend, someone he seemed to trust more than anyone, wasn't someone to be trusted. The Fischer job had taught him that, and somehow, he needed to get Arthur to see that, as well. If not, the arguments they'd had in the past, would quickly become part of their present, and any chance at a future would be gone.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean, Eames? And what is it with the hate that is between you two? I thought we were a team."

It was very rare, the times that someone actually shocked him into silence. This, unfortunately, was one of those times. He had an inkling that Cobb and Arthur had discussed him, and whatever was said was probably bordering on the line of unprofessional. But, then again, that was Cobb. Always keeping vital bits of information out, in the hopes it would sway someone to their side. It had been that way during the Fischer job, and it seemed like it was happening all over again. All he could see was someone who was willing to do whatever it took to get back into the game, and not a man who'd left the business for a reason. At the moment, killing Cobb seemed like a much better idea. Even better than killing Lucas; the man who made this entire mess what it was.

"We _were_ a team, Arthur. _Were_. Past tense. We performed inception, and we all went our separate ways. You, included, darling."

The flinch wasn't something Eames missed. He'd been trying not to use pet names, but that one just slipped out, mostly out of habit. He was of the opinion, that if it truly bothered Arthur, he would say so. As he hadn't said anything yet, he would continue to make an effort not to use them as much as he had in the past. If one just happened to slip out, so be it. 

"And you want to know why I have a strong _dislike_ for Dom? He has this _lovely_ little habit of keeping information back, Arthur. _Vital_ information, that almost got us all killed."

It had been far too long since he'd voiced his opinions on Cobb, and how he almost got them all killed on the Fischer job. When they'd originally discussed it, Arthur agreed that Cobb was somewhat to blame. But, then he also placed part of the blame on himself, citing poor research that he should have somehow known. Eames had tried to tell the point man that he wasn't perfect, that he couldn't have been expected to find every little detail about the man. But in the end, they'd agreed to disagree, preferring not to come to blows over a job that was said and done, and in their past. Maybe now was a good a time as ever to revisit that particular argument and see just what Arthur remembered.

"Inception is impossible. Dom told me the same thing y'know."

Time and time again, he'd told himself he wouldn't allow his frustrations to surface, that Arthur didn't remember the same things they all did, and that he just needed to be patient. It had been working. At least, until that very moment. If Dom had already explained inception to Arthur, why was he refusing to believe it? The point man used to believe everything their former extractor told him. Very rarely did he see Arthur correct Cobb. Until now. Was this part of the old him? The part of him that would question anything and everything because he had no memory of it? Eames wasn't too sure how to take all of this, and it was only natural that his own frustrations showed.

"Arthur, lo – "

It almost slipped out. Yet, another pet name almost slipped out. At least he'd caught himself. It was hard, wanting to use them, wanting things to be back to normal, and knowing it wasn't, and probably never would be. Eames had promised himself he would try to help Arthur regain his memories, would try to help him remember the life they shared. But how long was he supposed to try? How long was he supposed to play the doting boyfriend before he gave up, and went back to the job of being a dream forger? Months? Years? He couldn't. As much as he loved Arthur, and would do anything for him, if he didn't remember their life together, he was better off being without him. And that, hurt more than the fact the point man couldn't remember their life together.

"Inception is real. It's not theoretical. _You_ were there. Hell, you told me how, at one point, the second level had no gravity, and you had to use explosives in a lift to kick us back up. I couldn't ever accuse you of having no imagination after that."

Remembering Arthur telling him that story had made him proud of the point man, proud of being part of their team. No one would ever doubt they were the best, and having that on their resume would only help things. He also knew he could no longer tell people Arthur had no imagination. Of course, he would still tease him about it. But in reality, he knew it took one hell of an imagination to think of that. And judging by the look on Arthur's face, he was still debating whether or not the story was real. He still looked through Eames as if he wasn't there, or worse, was some sort of stranger. But at least it seemed as if he was willing to listen to what they all had to say.

"What else has Dom been saying about me?"

He had to know. Not only to satisfy his own curiosity, but to make certain he hadn't said anything to slight Arthur's opinion of him. Eames knew that Dom tended to hold back information. Especially, concerning those he worked with. But, he would also tell people the truth. If it actually suited his purpose. He didn't want to be like that, though. He just wanted Arthur to remember on his own, and not be persuaded into it because of an act of desperation. If he was honestly that desperate, it was time to go. They'd agreed to not use a PASIV, and as easy as it would be, as easy as it would be to just slip into his dreams, he wouldn't do it. He had to remember on his own, or not at all.

"He said you were a conman, a forger, and a thief. And that you were the best at what you did. And wouldn't hesitate to turn him in."

Snorting, Eames wondered if Dom had told Arthur the context of that particular bit of conversation. He remembered it well, the two of them sitting in a café in Mombasa, discussing the merits of inception, and whether or not it could be done. He also remembered the man's tails, and how he'd have absolutely no problem turning Cobb in. Of course, he'd meant it as a joke. Sort of. He'd worked with Cobb before, and he'd been a damn good architect, and extractor. _Before_ he lost Mal. After that, he'd fallen to pieces, deciding to take some of the more dangerous jobs their world could offer. Even worse, he'd taken Arthur with him. They hadn't been as close back then as they were now, but he still couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd found a way to drag the point man away from Cobb.

"He – he also said you couldn't be trusted, that you had a certain _reputation_ , and that I'd end up getting hurt. Said he'd told me that before, and that I hadn't listened to him, that he hoped I would listen to him now."

If he hadn't been angry with Cobb before, he was most definitely now. The man had some gall to tell Arthur what he was like. It wasn't his place. It had _never_ been his place, and now, all he wanted to do was strangle the man. Sadly, it explained a lot, and why they'd never gotten further than the few one night stands between jobs. Eames knew his reputation preceded him, and knew he'd never been one to settle down. But Arthur changed that in him, and he'd been willing to try.

"Eames? Have I said something wrong?"

"No – no, I'm just – "

Upset? Angry? Murderous? All of the above? There were just too many words, and none that could accurately describe all the feelings that were bubbling up inside of him. Eames had known Cobb could be an arse. But never, never did he think the man would stoop this low to get Arthur back in his life. Not after what they'd done for him, and the hell they went through to make certain he was able to get back to his family.

"What he said was true, Arthur. All of it. Well, except for the last bit. Yes, I _had_ a reputation. But I'd given it _all_ up for you, Arthur. All of it because I love you. And I wanted you to see that you could trust me."

Again, he felt his heart breaking into many little pieces. He'd given up a lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to. All because of one man. Friends had told him he was crazy, that it would never last. But he refused to believe it. He and Arthur were more than just a perfect team. They had the type of chemistry he'd seen with Dom and Mal. And, he wanted to see if that translated over into a relationship. But then they'd all gone their separate ways, and Arthur had disappeared. Just like the idea of something other than a working relationship with him. Eames had tried to find him, had used up a lot of favours in an attempt to locate the point man. In the end, he'd just given up, figuring if it was meant to be, it would have happened. Now, he was thinking the past was repeating itself, and he'd yet to learn the lesson from the last time.

"Dom offered to let me stay with him. When they let me go home, that is."

"Back to California?"

There was absolutely no way he was going to let Cobb take Arthur away from Seattle, and to California. According to the hospital, they were married, which meant he made the decisions for the point man, and there was no way in hell he was letting him go to California. Not when their life was in Seattle. How was he going to get Arthur to see that, though? Every day he'd tried to get him to see that, and every day, the point man looked like he'd rather be anywhere _other_ than with him. He'd even gone so far as to bring in some of the drawings Arthur had made, and all he could do was laugh, and ask who had made them. Eames had never known Arthur to draw, and when he found him doodling, was taken by surprise. Now, it seemed the tables were turned, and it was him having to convince Arthur that he wasn't making anything up.

"No, he's renting a house in Seattle. Said the schools were better up here, and a change of scenery would do the kids some good."

That was something he was going to have to look into. It seemed odd that Dom would rent a house in Seattle, when his whole life had been in California. And uprooting the kids? What did he have planned? Eames had no idea about the schools in Seattle in comparison to those in California, but uprooting the kids like that seemed rather – odd. The former extractor must have something in mind, something that didn't involve him. Why else would he offer a place for Arthur to stay, if not to poison his mind once and for all?

"Arthur, the doctor said you can go home in a few days. _If_ you're up to it, that is. And when you are, you're coming home with me. Okay?"

He could tell the point man was about to argue with him. That was one look that hadn't changed at all. And it was one thing he _knew_ he could shoot down in an instant. 

"No, no arguments. I know I'm nothing but a stranger to you, but the doctor said you need familiarity. And our flat should help. Just – give me a chance? Okay, Arthur? Please?"

The shy nod was all the answer he needed. Whether or not they would be okay, he hadn't a clue. But at least the point man was willing to give them a chance, to give Eames the chance he needed to prove, once and for all, that they belonged together.


	7. Chapter 7

Six weeks. Six long, and agonizing, weeks later, and the day he'd been both hoping for, and dreading, had finally come. Day by day, Arthur had gotten stronger, physically. And day by day, Eames sat and watched as the old point man he remembered, took shape in front of him. The laid back, almost casual, man he'd met that first week in town was gone, replaced with the business-like point man from their past. His heart broke a little every day, missing the Arthur that would walk barefoot in their flat, in nothing more than sweats and a t-shirt. The doctor had constantly reassured him, said that it was possible the memories would return. But every day, he saw the man he used to know slip further and further away. Eventually, there would come a time when he would need to decide whether to stick around, or to do the right thing, and let him go.

The trip from the hospital had been in relative silence, neither one of them quite sure what to say. Not after the incident that took place right outside Arthur's hospital room. He should have _known_ Cobb would try something, should have known that the former extractor had some sort of plan. Eames just never expected the man to go as low as he had, making an attempt to circumvent the plans he'd already put into place. Even worse, Arthur seemed to think nothing of it, forgetting the promise he'd made to return to _their_ home, and not the one belonging to Cobb. All the work, all the time they'd spent just talking, seemed to quickly vanish, being replaced with what seemed like joy at the possibility of returning to the life they'd both left behind.

The ensuing fight was one he quickly regretted, knowing it showed him in the worst possible light. But their former extractor tended not to understand anything, not unless there was an underlying threat of violence. Eames hated the fact Arthur had to witness it, but a part of him hoped it would make the man see that his so called friend, wasn't really a friend after all. Then again, judging by the silence, he was certain Arthur was even more confused than he had been at the hospital. And he couldn't even reach out, couldn't make an attempt at reassuring the point man. Not with out making the situation even more confusing. It hurt not being able to touch him, to grab his wrist, or rest his hand on the small of his back. All the things he'd taken for granted, he now missed.

And their flat, one of the places the doctor had suggested, in terms of familiarity, was the one place that would also magnify the hurt, the distance, that was between them. Eames had promised not only himself, but Cobb, their friends, and even the doctor, that he'd try his best, when it came to Arthur. But what about himself? How long was he supposed to keep up the charade? There was still Lucas to go after, revenge to exact. And he couldn't do that while sitting around, and hoping that the point man would remember just what they were to each other.

"Eames?"

"Mm?"

It was easy to school his features into something neutral, something that wouldn't show just how frustrated, and scared, he was. Eames knew it was something he would have to do, knowing that any sort of doubt would only exacerbate the situation. Familiarity was what the doctor had ordered, and that was what he'd give Arthur. Even, if he had to keep most of his own feelings buried.

"Is everything okay? You looked – "

"I'm fine, Arthur. Ready to go up?"

Some things never changed, it seemed, and Eames knew he was going to have to do a better job at hiding not only his feelings, but his emotions as well. It had been a long time since he'd been _that_ off his game. Time spent with Arthur, where they didn't have to constantly keep their guard up, had made him a tad rusty, and with Arthur more like his old self, he would spot any sort of weakness, any sort of opening that would give him a reason to doubt. Cobb, he was quite certain, had already planted the seed, and each time he allowed himself to remember the times before the accident, allowed himself to look concerned, instead of confident, that seed would only grow. If only he'd killed Cobb when he had the chance… 

He knew better than to think such things, and was actually grateful for the silence as they rode the lift up to their top floor flat. Eames knew he would need to dig back into the old days, remembering just what it was like to put on one of his many masks, to get through this phase of their lives. He also noticed the way Arthur was fidgeting, and picking at the shirt he'd brought from home, mumbling something about it not being comfortable. What he wouldn't give to be able to show the point man just how much he'd changed, how he actually preferred jeans and t-shirts, to the tight fitting suits everyone was so accustomed to seeing him in.

But to do that would mean digging out the PASIV, and they'd both agreed they'd never go back to that life. Well, it had been Arthur demanding, and him going along, because there was no way he was allowing the man to slip from his grasp yet again. The somnacin withdrawal had been rough, but once he'd gotten past it, Eames felt like he'd never even had the drug in his system. His dreams had come back, and while he missed the lucidity of the drugged induced dreams, he was content in knowing that he had everything he'd ever wanted by his side.

"There might be a few of your old suits in the closet," he said, quietly.

The sheepish look he got in return, as painful as it was, brought a smile to his face. Looking at Arthur, he was reminded just how young he'd been when they first met, so full of confidence, and attitude. And innocence. Eames had forgotten that part, and watching him enter their flat, was reminded of the fact that not many people got this sort of second chance. Not that he wasn't grateful, he just would have preferred the old Arthur back. This one was a stranger. Just like he was a stranger to the point man.

"You want coffee, or tea, or something to drink?"

"Coffee – if it's no trouble."

"Never. Bedroom's towards the back, if you want to find something more comfortable to wear."

He couldn't help but stand back, and watch Arthur take in their flat, wishing he knew just what was going on inside his head. Ariadne, and Cobb, had asked about coming over for a visit, but he quickly shot them down, explaining that it would be easier for him to settle in without having to worry about the stress of dealing with people. Watching the hesitation, his curiosity quickly squashed by what he could only think of as a feeling of not belonging, made him wonder if maybe it would have been better to have some of their friends over. They were both lost, and he couldn't quite shake the gut feeling that they wouldn't come out of this the same people they'd been before the accident.

Reluctantly, he walked into their kitchen, hoping a distraction would force his thoughts away from the inevitable. Eames had never been an optimist. His time in the military, followed by his life in dream crime, had taught him it was better to be a pessimist. If he expected the worst, and something better actually happened, he could enjoy it more, than had he assumed the best and ended up with the worst. He also knew just how tricky the mind was, having witnessed far too many of his brothers kill themselves during the early days of dream sharing. The doctor had told him it was possible, told him his memories could return. But he knew, deep down, they wouldn't. The man he'd loved was gone, replaced with a stranger in familiar clothing. 

And holding onto that slim hope wouldn't do either one of them any good. But he owed it – to Arthur, to himself, to their friends. Even if, in the end, nothing changed, he could take some sort of comfort in knowing he'd tried. It was more than he'd done for anyone else, more than he'd wanted to do for someone. Arthur had always been the one person who could make him do things he'd never even thought about. Now? It was just a matter of time, a matter of who would give up first. Eames had always been stubborn, but nothing in comparison to Arthur. Would he give up first? Or would he fight, like he had for Cobb? He hadn't a clue. The old Arthur, the one he found in jeans and a t-shirt, might have. But this version? He seemed more likely to run to Cobb than from him.

It hurt. Thinking about everything. In the hospital, he could just file it away, and deal with it another time. Being home, it all came flooding back. Eames knew it would, and wandering back to the doorway, couldn't help but watch and wonder how many more painful memories were going to come flooding back. At least Arthur had taken to exploring their main living room, instead of just standing around. He wasn't going to push the point man. But he wasn't too certain what more he could do. The memories would either return on their own, or not at all.

"Did you take – "

"No, no. Those were all you, Arthur," Eames explained, chuckling at the way Arthur waved his hand around. "Our lovely point man became a photographer, after he dropped off the face of the earth. There are others, in your work room, that are much better. If you want to see them, that is."

Not that it would help with anything. If Arthur couldn't even remember taking the photographs that lined their flat, how would he remember the painting of the city, from Alki Beach, he'd finished a few days before the accident? Or the painting of Gas Works park that he'd started on only the day before everything fell apart? He was supposed to be thinking positively, thinking that eventually _his_ Arthur would return. But watching him, staring at the images, hesitantly reaching up, Eames couldn't. He honestly couldn't think positive thoughts, at all. The only thing that kept popping into his head, the only thing that he could focus on, other than Lucas, was when would the nightmare finally be over? When would life, as they knew it, finally return?

And then, it occurred to him. How could people, other people, handle things like this? This was much worse than life or death, worse than having to run from the different organizations they'd crossed in the criminal world. Arthur was standing right there, in front of him, and yet – it wasn't the man he knew. As bad as it sounds, he would have much rather not have the point man, instead of having the shell of him. Or worse, having a gravestone to mourn. Anything, but the stranger he was faced with.

At least, he was saved from his morbid thoughts by the kettle. He could have watched Arthur for hours, looking for a sign that somewhere, in amongst all the chaos, was his point man. But the longer he looked, the less likely he was to find it. A rather depressing thought, as he retreated back into the kitchen. Eames knew that fixing their drinks would only serve as a distraction for so long, and once that was done, he had to wonder what would happen next. It was hard to resist the urge to reach out, to allow his hands to just rest on his arms or his shoulders. And standing in the doorway, watching Arthur study one of his own paintings made his feelings ten times worse.

"You told me you drew that not long after you moved here," Eames informed him. He remembered the first time he saw the drawing of the Seattle skyline, how he couldn't honestly believe that Arthur had actually drawn it himself.

"Yeah, it – it looks like my stuff. I mean I dabble every now and again. Just never something this – adventurous."

The red that tinted his face and ears reminded Eames far too much of the old times, when he'd caught Arthur working on something no one knew about. There weren't that many things that they'd kept from each other, but every once and a while, when they stumbled upon something new, the point man was the one who always seemed so embarrassed. Maybe, seeing his reaction so similar to ones he'd witnessed in the past, he could have some sort of hope, that somewhere was his Arthur. It was a long shot, but maybe, all they needed was to talk, and see just what they had to work with.

"None of us knew. I mean when I first saw that, it took me by surprise," he confessed. Eames wondered if he'd shared just a little bit about himself, that Arthur would feel more comfortable being around him. It was better than dealing with the fact the point man seemed to be constantly looking for something to pop out at them, looking for something in the shadows. How could he explain that between the two of them, that his was one of the safest flats in the building?

Placing their cups on the small table, he patted the space on the couch, and hoped Arthur would actually join him. This was new territory for the both of them, and the longer they put off taking that first step, the harder it was going to be for them to figure it all out. Eames wasn't too sure they would ever figure it all out. There was still the hunt for Lucas, the revenge, that was sitting in the back of his thoughts. It would be so easy to just ignore all of this, and spend his time tracking the former extractor. 

But seeing Arthur, watching just a little bit of that guard fall down, he knew it was better off left till another time. If Lucas was anything like Eames remembered, the man would be relatively easy to track down. Unlike most in their profession, he was the one person who thought he could easily hide within plain sight. He was looking forward to proving to him just how wrong he was, and just how poor a choice he'd made in crossing them.

"Eames? Can I ask you something else?"

"Arthur, you can ask me _whatever_ you like," he replied. He'd already explained to Arthur before, that they kept no secrets from each other. They weren't in the dream crime business any more, and had decided being honest, or as honest as two criminals could be, was how they wanted their new life to be.

"Why did I leave it all? Why move _here_?"

Of course, Eames wasn't expecting _that_ question. He'd always wanted to know why Arthur had left, and why he'd decided on Seattle, of all places. But if he'd been meant to know those answers, he was certain the point man would have told him. Wouldn't he? Or maybe, he should have forced the issue, and asked, instead of just letting it go, like everything else in their former life.

"I – " He hesitated, wondering if he told Arthur the truth, if it would do more harm than good. "I honestly don't know, Arthur. We worked one job after the Fischer job, and then you just up and disappeared."

Truth seemed like a better path, and watching Arthur take it all in, watching as the wheels in his head started to turn over everything he'd said, hoped it had been the right choice. If not, Eames was quite certain Arthur would find a way to let him know. In the past, he always had a way of reminding him when he'd pushed just a _bit_ too far. Something told him, should he do the same now, the old point man would return, and remind him.

"You said we were together, and it never crossed your mind to ask _why_?"

"Of course, I wanted to know why. I even spent time looking for you, you bloody idiot. But you were _gone_. Without a trace. It was pure coincidence that I ran into on the street during my first week of work."

Yelling wasn't the answer. Getting angry, letting his temper get the better of him _wasn't_ the answer. But how else was he supposed to deal with an Arthur that sounded more like Cobb than the point man he remembered?

"I'm – I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to snap. I never bothered to ask because I'd found you, and it honestly didn't matter any more."

"No, it's my fault. I'm just trying to understand everything, and I can't understand why I'd come back here. Not when I'd spent most of my life running from it."

That was something Eames hadn't known. During their time together, working, and walking, through each others dreams, Arthur had never mentioned the fact he'd been from Seattle, or that he was trying to put as much distance between it, and himself, as possible. What had happened that sent the point man running? And into a life of crime, no less? Maybe, during those times he wasn't searching for Lucas, it was time to start looking into Arthur's past, as well. Anything that might actually be useful was something he needed to know.

"What's the last job you remember?" Eames asked. It was better to divert their conversation from something so personal, than allow the emotions to get the better of him. He also figured talking about work, even though they'd promised each other they never would, might make Arthur more at home. And the more at home he felt, the more likely he was to open up, to explain just what he'd meant when he said he was running away from things. That definitely didn't sound like the Arthur he knew.

"Hamburg. Dom, Mal and I were hired to make certain this company's secrets weren't being sold off by their CEO. It was a nightmare, to say the least, and I'm honestly surprised we made it out in one piece. The man was militarized beyond anything we'd ever seen."

Eames actually remembered that job, as it had been the one right before they'd all met for the job in Madrid. Gossip spread like wildfire throughout the community, and had it not been for his friendship with Mal, he might have put it down to just that. But the letter he'd received from her not only confirmed what everyone had been saying, but asked if he was actually free for another job. That, and they had someone they wanted him to meet.

"I remember that one. It was right before the Madrid job. Where we actually met," he explained. His voice tapered off, not wanting to let his emotions get the better of him. But it was hard, keeping up the façade of being nothing more than a concerned friend, when in reality, he was a lover in immense amounts of pain. Eventually, it would all crack, and when that time came, he would need to make certain he was as far away from their flat as possible. But until that time came, he could at least help paint a better picture of how things were between them.

"Were you always like this?"

"Like what? Charming? Always, darling," he added, with a wink. Again, Eames couldn't help but grin, watching the red stain Arthur's cheeks and ears even deeper. It was yet another reminder that he could still affect the man. Even if he had no idea who, or what, they were, he was still affected by something as simple as his charm. And, strangely enough, it helped the little flicker of hope that rested within him, grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this! Writers block from hell. But hopefully, this was worth the wait. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Mornings used to be something he enjoyed; laying in bed, enjoying what little time they could spend together before facing the day. On the weekends, they were something to be cherished, enjoyed, and spent in bed, making up for all the times they couldn't enjoy it during the week. Now, they were just another reminder that life moved on, whether or not he was ready for it. 

Eames couldn't remember exactly what time they'd decided to turn in, just that as they spoke, about their work, about themselves, he could see exhaustion slowly overtake Arthur. It had been a long day, and an even longer night, and while it pained him to send the man to _their_ bed, he was gentleman enough to insist Arthur have the bed, while he took the couch. A move he wasn't about to regret, even though his whole body was complaining about having slept on something they'd never intended to sleep on.

Tea would fix things. And a shower. But at the moment, listening to the shower running in their bathroom, his thoughts drifted to the first time they'd met, remembering how young Arthur had been, how hardened life had made someone so young, and how he rarely left the Cobb's side. Eames had actually made the mistake of asking the point man if he was even old enough to actually work in the dream theft community. The reaction was one, he'd come to find out, he would see time, and time again – the idle threat of violence to his person should he ever bring the topic up again. So, of course, he brought up it, and anything else, he could use to tease Arthur whenever possible. That was how their relationship worked. That was how it was going to be, now that they were both out of dream crime.

Hearing the water shut off, he swung his legs off the couch, and pushed himself up, and onto his feet. They always said not to dwell on the past, and to think positive. Eames was finding it easier said than done. Yes, he'd seen some glimpses of the old Arthur, of _his_ point man. But there was still so much that was a stranger, that wasn't the man he'd loved. Would the familiarity of their flat, of the area they lived in, actually help? Or was it nothing more than a lost cause?

Only time would tell, and shuffling his way towards their bedroom, and bathroom, had decided their first full day out of the hospital would be spent in familiar places. Eames knew their apartment was full of reminders of their life together, but getting out, and _doing_ the things they did together, was bound to have more of an effect than anything else. Or, at least he hoped it would. But if not?

It was something Eames didn't want to even think about. Not until he actually had to. There was no use dwelling on something that may or may not happen. He knew the odds, and they weren't in his favour. But he was determined to try. Which meant a shower, and then breakfast. Though, watching Arthur, in nothing but a towel, looking over the wall they'd turned into a makeshift closet, had its perks. So many times in the past, he'd just lay in bed, and watch the point man meticulously pick out whatever outfit he was going to wear that day. Watching him now, unguarded, seemed somehow – wrong. It wasn't _his_ Arthur, and he had told himself he wouldn't take advantage of the situation. No matter how badly he wanted to.

"Arthur," he said, clearing his throat, "everything okay?"

His first reaction had been to go for his weapon, momentarily forgetting he was standing around in nothing but a towel. Arthur _hated_ being surprised. Hated being at a disadvantage, even more. But standing there, looking at the wall of shelves, he felt himself being dragged into the blankness that was his own memory. None of it was familiar. Where were his suits? His ties? The clothes that gave him comfort? Surely, he wouldn't have just given that all up. Then again, he'd never thought he would have ended up in Seattle, and yet there he was. Back in the one city he'd been running from since before he'd gotten into dream crime.

"Fine," he explained, still uncertain what more to say, "I – I'm fine. Really."

The raised eyebrow Arthur could ignore. It was the fact he was staring at Eames, who, for all intents and purposes, was a complete stranger, shirtless, that he couldn't quite ignore. The ink, the muscles, the lips – he could see why he would have been attracted to the man. He'd never been one for an accent, but he wasn't about to ignore the fact that his name, coming across the man's lips the way it had, was definitely changing his mind.

"So, tell me just where were you expecting to find a weapon? Unless, there's something you're not telling me," he teased, knowing it would get some sort of reaction from Arthur.

Eames had watched the man jump, and once settled, give him the once over. Any other time, and he would have been more than flattered. Any other time, and he would have pushed him back into their bed, and shown him just how flattered he was. How many times had Arthur done the same thing to him? And how many times had he made him pay, forcing the man to spend far too much time in bed? It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Even though, all he wanted to do was close their distance, and kiss some sort of sense into Arthur. That was all he wanted. And, he couldn't have it. Still always the gentleman.

"Excuse me? It was just a reaction to be startled. I _hate_ being surprised," he answered, ignoring the connotations that came with the Brit's questions. "This – it's just so new. So different. I'm just not used to – having someone there in the morning."

Arthur felt a twinge of guilt, confessing what he had. But if he didn't say anything, didn't at least let the other man know what was going on, how could they figure it all out? He still didn't believe everything that they'd been telling him. Everything that knew contradicted it all. Except, he'd promised Cobb, and this Eames person, he would at least try. And he was. Even if it went against everything he knew.

"Get dressed, and I'll make us breakfast. And, then we'll talk about the rest of the day," Eames told him, leaving Arthur to his own thoughts, while he went for the shower he so desperately needed. 

He wasn't about to stand there, and listen, as his heart was broken into even smaller pieces. There had been a time, when they were in the early stages of their dance, when he wouldn't stay the night with the point man. But slowly, over time, they began to spend the nights together, and then they would spend the nights, and have breakfast together. They never spent their off time with each other, knowing it would only attract attention. Risks or not, they weren't going to jeopardize anything for a fling.

Unfortunately, the shower really did nothing for him. His thoughts were constantly running back to how things used to be, how they would relish time like this, and spend it together, doing whatever it was they fancied. Not being able to touch Arthur, or worse, kiss him, was slowly driving him mad. It hurt. More than the initial shock of finding out he was nothing but a stranger to him. And, having the constant itch of finding Lucas, exacting the revenge he desperately wanted to exact on the extractor, wasn't helping his situation.

Getting out of the apartment was the only solution. Being out along the waterfront, amongst people, would take both of their minds off of their current situation. Plus, it was roughly that time of the month when they would walk down to the market, and pick up supplies for their meals. The past two months, he'd forgone traipsing down to Pike's Place, knowing it was just him at home, and what was the point in making something just for himself. Take out had sufficed. Now, though, they were back home, and familiarity, and routine, was the one thing that could actually help.

"Did you make coffee?"

After spending far too long looking over the shelves of clothing, Arthur had decided on a grey t-shirt and jeans, something that seemed to be of his tastes. It was also comfortable, and made him feel more like himself, than anything else. But, he wasn't about to say that. Not when it seemed like his last little confession caused pain in the Englishman. At least, there was hope for coffee, and breakfast. Just like he was promised.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked, curious as to why Eames was staring at him, a small smile gracing his features. Did he miss a spot shaving? Was there something wrong with his outfit? Or worse, were there new injuries popping up that he hadn't seen previously?

"That's, uh – that's one of mine, actually." Again, Eames felt his heart swell. If only slightly. The worn, grey t-shirt was one he'd had for a while, and one that he'd seen Arthur nick time, and time again. Seeing him wear it now, after everything, gave him a false sense of hope. It was the last thing he needed. But, he refused to show that. He needed to stay positive. For Arthur's sake, if not his own.

"Do you want – "

"It's fine. Really. You tended to borrow it, anyway."

Maybe _his_ Arthur was still in there, somewhere. Maybe it was just looking for any bit of familiarity, and the first bit it found, it clung onto. Watching him at the far end of their kitchen table, he could pick out the parts that were definitely the point man he'd fallen in love with. But he also saw parts of the man he remembered meeting so long ago. It was almost as if both parts of him were at war, both desperately trying to lay claim to one person.

"I was thinking, after breakfast, we could head down to the market. Hadn't been in a while, and you used to always preach about buying from the local farmers," he suggested, his focus sand till on the food on the stove. Eames couldn't turn back, couldn't stand there and watch, unable to touch Arthur. He was certain the frustration was evident in his actions, and his words. All of his skills, as a forger, couldn't have hidden the amount of hurt that he was currently bottling up inside.

The market. They actually went Pike's Place market. Arthur wasn't too sure if he should be amused, or shocked. It was a tourist trap. One of the bigger ones. And, when did he become someone interested in the local economy? All of it was too much for him to take him. This whole life wasn't his. It couldn't have been his. _His_ involved Dom and Mal, and a PASIV, and shared dreaming. _Not_ co-habiting with a stranger, making trips to a market, spending time together. 

Maybe this was some sort of dream? They'd all assured him it wasn't. But how was he supposed to know that? His totem was missing, and without it, he couldn't be sure.

"Here," came the words, followed by the sound of some sort of bag hitting the table in front of him, "that's what you're about to go looking for, isn't it?"

Arthur's eyes darted between the bag, and Eames, wondering just how the man knew what was going through his head. And better yet, why was it in a bag, and not floating around in his clothing? 

"We decided to lock them up. With the PASIV devices," he explained, before taking his seat back at the far end of their table. Eames could tell that Arthur was about to go on a search for his totem, and decided to save him the trouble. Of course, it hurt, knowing that he still needed the comfort of his die, instead of just accepting that he was awake. It was yet another reminder, that the man sitting down the table from him, wasn't the man he'd fallen in love with. Was he a fool for holding on to a sliver of hope? Or just an idiot?

Slipping his fingers into the small, black, velvet bag, Arthur allowed himself to momentarily relax, feeling the edges of his loaded die. It was the only thing he knew from _his_ life, the only thing that felt real. No matter what they'd told him, it could all be one dream, and one that he couldn't wake from. His totem was the one thing he could take comfort in, the one thing that would at least tell him if he were in someone else's dream.

As he rolled it across the table, his eyes still flickered between the die, and the man at the far end of the table. He could see why he would have spent time with him. In all honesty, he'd never really had a type before. In all honesty, he'd never dated. Had a few flings, yes. But never spent more than a night with anyone before. When had all of that changed? Had Eames somehow changed his mind? Had the Englishman changed his thoughts on just about everything he'd ever known? He had to know, and staring at the die, reading the number that signalled reality, sighed, and relaxed back into his chair.

"Satisfied?" This time, he didn't bother to hide the hurt from his voice. What was the point? Eames couldn't even look Arthur in the eyes, preferring to stare at the table. It was like each time they took some sort of step forward, they were taking three times as many back. Was this how it was always going to be? Or would they eventually have some sort of break-through?

"We don't have to –"

"No, it's fine. I – I'd like to get out. Especially, as it's one of those rare sunny days here."

He tried to give Eames a smile, something to let him know that he was really okay, and that he wasn't about to go digging about for his weapon, and try to shoot himself out of a dream. And he really did want to get out of their apartment, and enjoy what little sun they were going to have. Seattle wasn't normally known for its sunny days, and while he knew fall was quickly creeping up on them, there was still plenty of summer left for them to enjoy. And maybe, getting out of the apartment, and back into the city, would give him some sort of clue as to why he'd returned.

"Okay, if you're certain," he answered, looking up long enough to catch the dimples that he'd fallen in love with.

After eating the rest of their breakfast in silence, they'd finally decided to walk down to the waterfront. With the crowds forcing them to walk even closer together, he was finding it difficult to resist the urge to grab his hand, or worse, loop his thumb through one of Arthur's belt loops. But somehow, he was managing it. All without giving away just how much he wanted to show everyone that they were normal, that they hadn't undergone a major change to their life. Eames knew they could do this. They'd done it plenty of times before. This was just like every other day. Even if it wasn't.

"I was thinking we could take advantage of the weather, and grill something on the roof-top," he suggested, as they made their way through the crowds looking over the new arrivals of flowers. The first day of summer had brought out the sunflowers, but this time, it just seemed like a mixture of different flowers. Nothing that really stood out to him. And then there were the merchants selling different handmade crafts. That always tended to bring out the tourists. 

At least, it seemed as if Arthur was handling things. Having decided to walk behind him, Eames couldn't tell if his stiff posture was habit, nerves, or something else entirely. He would have asked, but decided against it, hoping he was just nervous being around the crowds.

"Yeah, sure that's fi – " He stopped dead in his tracks, ignoring the hand that he felt on the small of his back. They were just about to cross into the market proper, when his eyes caught an older woman, selling hand-knitted crafts. Arthur's first instinct had been to run, to get as far away as possible. His eyes had to have been deceiving him. She was dead. That's what they'd told him. Dead on impact. Then how?

"Arthur, are you okay?" Eames could actually feel the man start to tremble beneath his hand. Nothing, as far as he knew, could affect the point man. Not like this. But when his eyes tried to seek out exactly what was causing the issue, the only thing he found was a merchant, selling some sort of knitted crafts. It wasn't like they'd been spotted by some mark, looking to exact revenge.

"No. I – I need – to go – now, please Eames," he begged. Arthur wasn't normally one to do such a thing, but he couldn't stand there, couldn't just look at someone who should have been dead. There had been a reason he'd left Seattle, and no matter what brought him back again, it was time he left. He couldn't stick around. Not with all the memories there. Of course, he'd have to explain to Eames what had happened. But not tonight. Not then. He needed to get out.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, moments before darting back out of the building, and back towards their apartment. Maybe it was too soon, but Arthur knew he could at least gather his thoughts in their apartment, and not surrounded by too many people.

Eames wasn't even sure what had happened. Just that one moment they were walking through the market, like they did every month, and the next, he was watching Arthur's retreating form. He knew where the man would end up, and knew he had his own set of keys on him. He just wished there had been some sort of explanation, something that made sense. Arthur had _never_ run from him like this. Not unless they were on a job. So, why now? What had caused him to flee? What was going on inside of his head?

Sighing, he finished buying the items they'd initially come down to the market for, and an hour later, plus an earl grey tea from the Starbucks near the market, Eames returned to their flat, hoping beyond hope that Arthur was there. If not? He would have to call Ariadne, and hope she would help him out. There were far too many places he could have gone. And given the fact he'd grown up in the city, the number of places only seemed to get larger.

"Arthur?"

Their flat was quiet when he'd first entered, and started putting the groceries away. But now? It seemed a bit too quiet. Eames' first instinct had been to go for the weapon he kept hidden away. For intruders, he'd explained to Arthur when the point man had found it. But spotting the door that lead to the rooftop slightly ajar, he knew the point man was up on the roof. There was still plenty of daylight left, and it was one of the few places where they could be alone with whatever thoughts they had.

As he took the steps, two at a time, he wondered if maybe he should leave Arthur be, and allow him some time to process everything. Then again, he'd had plenty of time to think, given the fact it had taken him at least an hour to return from the market. He wasn't about to pretend whatever happened hadn't. They needed to get it out, and if that meant interrupting things, so be it.

"Arthur? You okay," he asked, his eyebrows raised at the sight of Arthur smoking. "Didn't realize you smoked," he commented, as he took one of the cigarettes from the pack, and lit up. It had been a while, as he'd quit not long after moving into their flat. But now, it felt like the only thing that would calm his fears.

"I don't, normally," he explained. And he didn't. Arthur wasn't one to smoke. Unless he found himself in a stressful situation. Coming face to face with what he'd thought was his past, definitely constituted a stressful situation. And now, he had to deal with a curious Eames. He had no idea how he was going to answer the man's questions.

"Maybe, I wasn't ready, after all. I'm sorry."

"Arthur, don't be sorry. It's okay. You just – " _Worried me_ , he wanted to say. He'd been more than worried, seeing him react in a way he hadn't seen in years. The Arthur he knew was cool under pressure. This one – wasn't. Another sign he wasn't dealing with _his_ point man. Sooner, or later, he was going to have to come to the realisation that if things didn't improve, he would have to let him go. Not yet, though. There was still some sort of hope, and he would cling on to that with his dying breath, if necessary.

"Look, why don't we go downstairs. I was going to work on finishing up this painting I started before. Why don't you come and sit with me?" It was the only thing he could think of. Eames knew Arthur had seen the art littering their flat. He also knew he'd seen his own drawings, the ones that he'd sat and watched Arthur draw from the photographs they'd taken. It couldn't hurt to try, could it?

"If you don't mind, I think I'm just going to sit up here for a bit," he told him. He needed the space, needed to figure out what was going on. The time he'd had alone wasn't long enough. And while Arthur appreciated the offer, knew he was being extended some sort of olive branch, he wasn't ready to accept it. Sitting alone, allowing his own brain to process everything – _that_ was how he was going to figure it all out. That was how he'd done so in the past, and if it didn't work this time? 

Somewhere in the apartment was a PASIV. Arthur remembered that from their conversation a couple hours previously. If he could get his hands on that, he knew he could figure it all out. He also knew he could get back to work, and put Seattle as far away from him as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months, and before long, summer had turned to fall, with winter looming in the future. The weather had turned from predictable, to unpredictable, and constantly grey, with an occasional rain shower. It reminded Eames too much of London, and not for the first time, he wondered just why he'd decided to move to Seattle. Arthur had always made it _tolerable_ , but with him gone, there was no longer any reason for him to stick around, no reason for the constant reminder that the city wasn't his own; just like his life. 

Every day seemed to be the same. They'd get up, have breakfast; some days Eames would go to work, and some days he'd stay home; some days he'd return to the flat and find Arthur sitting at a computer, and other days, he would return to find a note saying he'd be home later, that he was with Cobb or Ariadne. 

And then, there were the days, while sitting at his desk, that he would remember their dates; his attempt at grasping for straws, and hoping for some sort of miracle. Eames remembered the fun they had, the laughter they'd shared, and how, if only for a moment, things hadn't changed, that his point man was still there, just waiting to be found. Those were the days, when everything else seemed to fall apart, that he clung to the most. 

Especially, as it seemed as if they were slowly starting to progress to fighting more and more, and talking less and less. It always seemed to boil down to one thing or another, usually something insignificant, and then all the progress they'd made, all the time they'd shared together, vanished, replaced with far more walls than he ever remembered seeing during their time together. Those times, in all of his frustrations, had him wondering just what was the point? Why was he sticking around, when clearly he wasn't wanted? He was still a stranger to Arthur, and sometimes, he felt like the point man wasn't even trying. 

It was _that_ thought actually angered him, more than anything else. He'd been trying his damnedest to help out Arthur, and in return, all he received was the same thing – he still couldn't remember anything. How much longer could they continue? How much longer could he actually continue? When was enough enough? When was it time to let him go? It was something Eames had been debating more and more, especially as their fights were slowly escalating. Maybe it was a sign to let Arthur go, and for him to move on with life. Maybe he'd been a fool, holding on to hope when, clearly, there wasn't any.

As much as it hurt to actually think about such things, Eames knew it was time. He'd tried his best, and in the end, it hadn't been good enough. He couldn't help someone who didn't want help.They needed to at least discuss the possibility of moving forward with their lives. Even, if it was as separate people. The way things were going, they were only hurting each other. And, he'd always believed it was better to rip a plaster off quickly rather than slowly.

Having left work early, and hoping to have some time to gather his thoughts before ruining their night, he honestly hadn't expected to walk into their flat, and find himself faced with Arthur, hooked up to the PASIV. Eames remembered the conversation they'd had, when they were contemplating living together. The point man had _forbidden_ him, in not so many words, of course, from using the device. He'd put it all behind him, and had expected Eames to, as well. It had been difficult, the urge to create always there. But for Arthur, he did it. How could he deny a man with dimples such as his anything?

But seeing him, laying on their couch, connected to the machine, all he could feel was anger. Anger and betrayal. After everything, he'd gone behind his back, and used the one thing they'd _both_ promised never to use again. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about using it, knowing that if there was any part of his Arthur left, it would be tucked away in the depths of his mind. The only thing that had kept him from doing just that, was the promise he'd made to the point man. No matter what, they had decided to leave that part of their lives behind.

_Had_ , he reminded himself, taking a seat across from the couch. Past tense. Eames noticed the timer only had a few seconds left, and he was going to need it to put himself together, and not just come right out and allow his anger to fuel whatever discussion would come from this. They were adults, more than capable of handling the type of discussion they needed to have. It wasn't going to be easy, but he felt like they could handle it. 

And yet, he felt more like a parent, about to scold a child for doing something wrong. He _hated_ that feeling. For the most part, they had always been equals. Now, though, they were nothing more than two strangers, thrown together out of a desperate necessity to hold onto the past, instead of making an attempt to move forward.

Hearing the point man start to wake, he settled himself back into the chair, and waited for the excuses to roll in. He _knew_ that's what they would be. What other reason would Arthur have for using the device? There was no reason, and making his presence known, remembering how the point man hated to be startled, he waited to hear whatever explanation came from him.

"What – what are you doing home?" Awakening from a dream was always slightly disorienting, and while he was grateful for the warning, he was still taken by surprise. Arthur had assumed he'd have at least thirty to forty-five minutes before Eames returned home. He'd spent time studying the man's routine, and knew the man tended to return home from work late in the afternoon. Seeing him across the sofa wasn't something he expected.

"How long, Arthur?"

It was the tone of his voice that gave away the severity of the issue at hand. While he _looked_ calm, and collected, his words betrayed him, and Arthur wasn't too sure how best to proceed. He could lie, and say only a few days. Or, he could tell the truth, and explain he'd been using it for over a month now. What he wouldn't say was that each and every time he'd gone under, he felt like someone was watching him, someone that hadn't made themselves visible, yet their presence could be felt. It was a strange feeling, and one he couldn't even explain.

"And don't lie. I'm better at reading people than you think."

The debate still raged on, with part of him wanting to continue with the lie he'd already concocted. Just because Eames had mentioned being good at reading people, didn't mean Arthur was actually going to believe it. No one was _that_ good, and he'd worked with plenty of people; none, of which, had been able to figure him out. What made him any different?

"The past month, or so," he finally decided upon, knowing the truth would eventually come out. Arthur figured it was better to have it on his terms, than the other man's.

The past month? It honestly didn't surprise Eames. Not one bit. It actually went a long way in explaining things. Like why they'd been fighting more and more, and talking less, why the point man seemed much more withdrawn, and secretive. Not that Arthur wasn't secretive. He just seemed more so. And now, he knew why. Even though he knew, _knew_ , that he couldn't expect Arthur to remember their pact, seeing him hooked up hurt. That hurt, unfortunately, was quickly turning into anger, and he knew just how this particular night was going to end. Just like all the others – one spectacular fight.

"Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?" He honestly didn't care about the answer. It was just the first question that came to mind. That, and why. Why did he feel the need to use the PASIV? Had he decided to just give up, and find a way to return to their old life? Was this the end, then?

"You think you're the only one who's missed going under, Arthur?" Again, Eames didn't care about the answers, just that he _needed_ to get everything out into the open, to get all the hurt, and anger off, before it tore him to shreds. If this was going to be the end of things, he had decided there would be no holding back. All or nothing, he reminded himself.

" _You_ were the one who said no more. _You_ were the one that told me you'd put this life behind you, and that if I wanted to stick around, I'd have to do the same. _You_ , Arthur. Not me." 

With each word, Eames could feel the anger, and ire, rise. With each word, he knew the frustration was slowly seeping from his body, and into their conversation. He'd always been careful not to show just how much all of this had affected him. But now? What was the point. It wasn't like Arthur cared one way or the other. The fact he'd gone back to using the device was evidence of that.

"I gave it all up, for _you_. Why? Because I stupidly fell in love with you," he continued on, pain tinting his anger fuelled rant. "Do you even care any more? I mean, do you _want_ to remember who you were? Who _we_ were?"

Arthur wasn't even sure what to say. What more could he say that wouldn't make their conversation worse? How could he say that he'd tried, but there was nothing more he could do? Or, that he didn't trust the man he'd been living with, even though they'd talked about their shared past?

There was nothing he could say that would make any of this any easier. And with his own frustrations having been bottled up the whole time, he knew it was best to just get it out now, instead of just leaving things as they were. Even if it ended up in yet _another_ argument.

"Of course, I want to know." The words came out a bit more terse than he'd wanted, but it got his point across. "You think I enjoy this? Enjoy having no idea what Ariadne is talking about? Or the fact that we _know_ each other?"

He was beyond frustrated. Everyone seemed to know something, and he didn't. Arthur had always hated being left out of the proverbial loop, and now, he had no choice but to accept that there were things he didn't know, and would forever be out of the loop.

"I've _tried_. It may not look like it, but I have. And then you mentioned the PASIV, dangled it out there like some forbidden fruit. Did you _honestly_ expect me _not_ to find it? To use it?"

Sighing out of frustration, Eames knew Arthur had a point. He'd mentioned their totems, and the device, and had expected him to ignore the simple fact that they were hiding somewhere in their flat. They'd made a deal, and even though a small part of him thought the device could help, he hadn't wanted to rely on it.

"How was I supposed to know, Arthur? All we do is argue, so please, tell me, how was I supposed to know whether or not you gave a damn about remembering your life, remembering _us_?!"

"Us? I don't even _know_ you, Eames! I mean, don't get me wrong, I can see why we're together. But – I don't know you. There is no _us_."

The words shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. A part of Eames _knew_ that what they had was in the past, that whatever it was that had brought, and then kept them, together, was over. He knew, and had tried to actually accept that fact. Hearing it from Arthur, from someone he _loved_ , hurt. What was left of his heart had been shattered, and instead of accepting it, all he could think about was the pain, and the anguish. 

"You're right. There is no _us_. The Arthur I _knew_ wouldn't have given up quite so easily, would have at least given it more of a fight. You're nothing more than a _shell_."

Getting up, Eames stormed off towards the door that lead to their rooftop terrace, knowing it was the one place he could calm himself before he said something even worse than what had already been said. He also couldn't stand to look at the man sitting across from him. Everything within him, told him it was Arthur. But it wasn't. Not even close. As he said, it was nothing more than a shade of the former point man.

"Eames?"

That was all it took for him to stop in his tracks, and wait to see just what it was Arthur had left to say. 

"Ariadne has offered to let me stay with her. At least until this whole mess has been straightened out. I think I'm going to take her up on that offer."

Eames didn't want to hear the rest, and slammed the door behind him, preferring the quiet, albeit cold, night on the roof, to dealing with the fact his life was falling apart around him. Normally, he never allowed things to get to this point. His reputation had served him well, and allowed him the opportunity to run whenever things got too – uncomfortable. But something about Arthur had always piqued his curiosity. Now, he was wishing he'd just left it all back in Los Angeles, after the Fischer job.

He had no idea how long he stayed up on the roof. Just that when he'd finally returned to the flat, it was quiet, and he'd somehow missed Arthur's departure. Eames knew it was for the best, and pulling out his own PASIV, decided to say one last goodbye to the Arthur he knew, and loved. It wasn't easy, but after an hour down in the dream, he at least felt like he could move forward with life, move forward with the plan that he'd been slowly working on since he'd found out just who was behind the accident. 

There was just one last thing he needed to do, and that was to pen a letter to Arthur. It was probably pointless, but he felt it was something he needed to do, something that would forever seal the door shut, and allow him to come to terms with everything that had just happened. It also allowed him to get out everything he'd never been able to say. 

_Arthur..._

_I never expected things to come to this. But, unfortunately, lady luck wasn't on our side. We had a good run. You and I. Like everything, though, it had to end. Maybe I just didn't expect it to end quite so soon. Not that it matters any more. What happened happened, and I just want to leave you with a few words, in the hope that one day they might actually make some sort of sense. And if they don't? At least I'd gotten them out there. Nothing worse than pining for someone who doesn't return the feelings. Maybe this is for the best. Just – don't judge me too harshly. You always were my one weakness._

_Seattle hadn't been my type of city in the beginning. It was cold, it was rainy, and they drove on the wrong side of the road. They also tended to prefer coffee to tea, but I was more than willing to overlook that. If only because you were here. Mumbai, London, Prague, Paris – those were the type of cities I preferred. And those were the types of cities where I'd hung my hat in the past, as you know. London and Paris, though, were the only cities where I'd actually acquired small safe houses. They worked for what they were used for and you always did prefer mine to yours; though you never really said why. I always assumed it was because of my charm, because we both know it wasn't my skills in decorating. But maybe you saw something else. Maybe you saw in me, what I saw in you. Potential. Go ahead. Laugh. You never did believe that I could be a romantic until I proved it to you one day. And even then, you had to wonder why I'd picked Paris when we both knew that I would always have a preference to London. Sure, they drove on the wrong side of the road. But there was just something about the city of lights that made it seem like a good choice. You never complained when we were forced there by – what was that corporation we'd been hired by to steal their competitor's expansion plans? I don't even remember, it's been so long._

_It doesn't matter now. That was then, and this – this is now, I guess. You don't even remember the jobs we'd taken together. The time we ran in Prague, or when you had to save my arse in Johannesburg. Or even worse, those times we were both arrested outside of Moscow. Those were the days. You still seem to think Inception is nothing but a theory; even though myself, and Cobb, and Ariadne have tried to tell you that it's more than that. So many times we've tried to explain to you that it's actuality, and not theoretical. And all you do is look at us like we've grown two heads. You don't remember any of it. Or me, for that matter. That, I think, is what hurts the most. You look through me, instead of at me. To you, I'm nothing more than a stranger, someone who needs to prove themselves to you. I wish you could see that I've done that many times over, that I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you if that was what it took. If only you could remember me – remember us._

_I always saw so much in you – more than I ever said. Maybe one day you'll see that, too. Maybe one day...._

_I also have one last thing to ask of you. Allow no one to see this. If you must, burn it. You and I both know what could happen should this fall into the wrong hands._

_Take care, and good luck._

_E_

Three weeks later, he found himself outside a small house, wondering what he'd been thinking when he had accepted Ariadne's invitation. His thoughts still drifted back to the night Arthur had left, and he'd all but poured out his heart in the letter he'd written. Eames still couldn't believe the things he'd written, and had thought about just burning it. But he needed to get it out, if he wanted to finally put this all behind him. The pain was still there, and it probably always would be, but the plan he'd put into place would distract him long enough that in six to eight months time, he would be fine with putting all of this behind him.

It also didn't help that he'd promised their fledgling architect that he would be there. Being in a confined location, with Arthur, Cobb, and whomever else she'd decided to invite, wasn't his idea of fun. At least he could take comfort in the fact he wouldn't be there long. An hour, two tops. When he'd booked his flight, he'd made certain he would have just enough time to socialize before having to duck out to make his flight. Perfect really, when he thought about it.

It also meant spending as little time around Arthur as possible. Eames still felt the pain, and staring at the front door, knew it would all come flooding back. He just had to remember the red eye he had in a few hours, and focus on that. He may not have been the best when it came to tracking down their marks, but he was good enough. And his research had lead him to Berlin. Whatever happened after that, he would deal with as it came. It was a good distraction, he reminded himself, waiting for someone to answer the door.

"Eames! You made it!"

Normally, he might have been taken aback by Ariadne's enthusiasm. But tonight, he would put on yet another façade, and act like nothing had happened. He had no idea just what Arthur had said, and he refused to confirm any suspicions.

"Course I did," he said, stepping foot into the small house, "though, I can't stay long. Flight's in a few hours."

The look of confusion that briefly flashed across Ariadne's face went to explaining a lot. Arthur hadn't bothered to mention the details of their fight, or the fact he'd spent some of their time together looking for Lucas. Which meant she would have no idea why he was leaving town.

"It's just – " His eyes catch Arthur, staring back at him from the far side of the main room. It was their flat all over again, and Eames could feel his throat starting to constrict. He'd been a fool, thinking he could just come here, like nothing had changed. _Everything_ had changed, and being there was only a firm reminder.

"I can't, Ariadne," he whispered, knowing there was a look that was somewhere between pain and fear plastered to his face, "I can't stay here, I'm sorry."

Turning back towards the door, it was the feeling of her hand on his arm that stopped his movement. Eames didn't want to just stand around, and look like the loser in all of this. But neither could he stay. The _only_ thing he could do was leave the note with their friend, and exit their lives as painlessly as possible.

"Do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"Give this to Arthur. Not now, of course, but after I'm gone," he explained, taking the simple white envelope from his jacket pocket, "I don't know how long I'll be gone. Six, possibly eight months. But no longer than a year. And then I'll be back." 

He wasn't about to tell her that he'd only be in the city long enough to pack up his measly possessions, and flee like the coward he could be. Seattle had lost its appeal, and Mombasa seemed like a better destination. At least, until he could start the new job Saito had promised.

"Do you want us to tell him?"

Glancing over Ariadne, his eyes once again settled on Arthur. Even though he seemed to be deep in conversation with Cobb, he knew the point man could tell he was being watched. It was just another one of his quirks, and one that usually came in handy. 

"No," he replied. A clean break was what they both needed, and this last job, even though he was doing it for them, would give them both exactly what they needed.

"Alright, I won't. Just like I won't ask where you're going. If anyone asks, at least I can tell them the truth. Be careful, though, Eames."

"I will," he said, taking once last glance at the life he would be leaving behind for the next year. He'd never thought about having this sort of life. Eames had always enjoyed the _darker_ side of things. But watching everyone, a part of him would miss it. A larger part, though, was going to enjoy exacting his revenge on the man that had stolen all of this away from him. Even if he hadn't wanted it, having had a taste, it was something he was definitely going to miss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, the story will be told mostly from Arthur's point of view. I won't be forgetting Eames, but to move the story forward, I will be focusing on Arthur, and only giving little snippets of Eames' journey.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates on this story! I won't make any excuses, just that I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. On the plus side, all the chapters have been written. Which means over the next week or so I shall be posting the rest of them. I hope you feel the wait was worth it.

Eames had wanted to hit the ground running, the knowledge that his intel was a few days old fuelling his desires. He'd called in one of his old military friends, in the hopes he would not only be able to bunk with the man but have his surveillance expertise as well. For all he knew his target could have fled the city already. And if that ended up being the case? He'd need all the help he could get to find the bastard. No matter where he went he would be a dead man. It was just a matter of time. And having enough people willing to help him out. Both of which he had plenty of.

The fourteen hour flight, on the other hand, was making his wants and desires war with the simple fact that he needed to rest. Sleep hadn't come at all between Seattle and Berlin. He'd never been able to really kip out on a flight, his thoughts constantly churning over whatever plan they'd been working on. Even before he'd left dreaming, Eames had never been able to sleep on a flight. Not unless there was alcohol involved. Or some sort of medication.

This time it was his own pain fuelling his inability to sleep. Each time he'd closed his eyes all he could see was Arthur. Not the shell he'd left behind, but _his_ Arthur; the point man that defied gravity during the Fischer job, lead them both out of Minsk with the Russian Mob on their tails, had drunkenly told him one night that he may have been in love with him, the one who had no problems walking out in public in something other than a three piece suit.

"Oi! Eames!"

The sound of fingers snapping in front of his face dragged him from his thoughts. Eames had thought that he'd finally pushed them all aside, but clearly if he was still finding himself drifting back into them he had more work to do. If he couldn't even spend a few moments concentrating with his mates, he was going to have an even harder time when it came to actually tracking Lucas down.

"Sorry, what were you saying," he asked, running a tired hand over his face.

"Your boy left town already. We checked his place and he'd already taken off."

"Great. Just – fucking great," he sighed out of frustration, and allowed his head to hit the table. They'd picked a small café close to the flat Eames owned in Berlin as he didn't want to travel too far after his long flight. Not with the amount of exhaustion that was currently demanding answers. His target had fled the city, and now he was wondering if coming here had been a good idea or not.

"Mate, you really have been out of the loop haven't you."

Eames honestly wasn't in the mood for teasing, and lifting his head, glared at his friend across the table. If they had some more intel for him, he'd wished they would just share it instead of dangling it in front of him like some sort of prize. He was tired, he'd had a long flight, and he was still fighting off the effects of a broken heart. The last thing he wanted was to pull tooth and nail to get the information.

"His itinerary says he's flying into Dubai, and then connecting with a flight to Singapore. And we've made certain to keep eyes on him in case anything changes."

Fucking _Singapore_. Of all the places, he picked one where Eames couldn't even get into the country without raising flags. Which meant he was going to need to come up with another plan, or find a way to sneak into the country. Neither of which seemed all that appeasing. But if it had to be done…

"I owe you. Big time," he said, offering up something akin to a smile, even though he could have used either sleep or a drink. Though sleep would have been the better choice, Eames drug himself up from the table, and walked towards the closest pub, or brew house or whatever it was they called it in Berlin. His brain was too far gone for him to think of the proper terms, and only hoped his passable German was enough to get him something to drink.

And if it wasn't? There was always the option of sleep. Something he'd need to do in order to get his head out of the past and into the present so he could read over the information his mates had given him, and plan his next step. As much as he hated Singapore, he hated Lucas more.

* * * * *

Sleep hadn't come easy for Arthur, either. Even though he'd spent enough time with Ariadne to accustom himself with the bed, he felt like something was missing, like the bed was far too large for just himself. It was a feeling that became more and more prevalent the longer things continued on as they had. But what did it all mean? He couldn't just come out and tell Ariadne that. She would look at him stranger than she already when he mentioned the things he felt at random intervals. Keeping it to himself, on the other hand, wasn't doing him any good either. Which meant he needed to either figure out what was going on or just admit it to Ariadne, and deal with the consequences later.

"Morning Arthur."

Shuffling into the kitchen, Arthur needed at least one cup of coffee before he could even consider conversation. More than one, and his higher brain functions would kick in. But for now, he would suffice with just one so he could figure out what the plan was for the day.

The PASIV was still sitting in his room, taunting him. He hadn't gone back under since the fight that forced him out of the apartment with Eames. Not because he hadn't wanted to, but because he wanted to save the somnacin he'd taken from the apartment. He was also leery of going back under on his own. Especially as each time had been met with that uneasy feeling of being watched, that each step he took in the dream world was being shadowed by someone else, someone who refused to show their face.

"Morning," he muttered, wrapping his hands around the proffered mug, "any plans for the day, or – "

Arthur wasn't certain how to broach that particular subject. Going under for a job was one thing. They planned for it, knew the possible risks, and the designs of the layout. But asking someone to come into a dream outside of work? It was personal, and only done with someone one trusted almost explicitly. He liked Ariadne, and they could talk about all sorts of things in terms of dream architecture and paradoxes. Trust? That wasn't something he was certain of. She'd told him they had worked on a couple jobs together, and that he'd been someone she could trust in terms of vetting people for her.

That was the past, though. He couldn't feel any sort of bond, something that would tell him she was the type of person he could trust. And if he didn't trust her, he shouldn't drag her down into his own dreams. Arthur remembered her mentioning the fact that his sub-security was one of the best. If that was the case, it would be dangerous to drag her down into his own subconscious. Yet if he didn't, he'd have absolutely no idea why he felt like someone was constantly watching him. Another person would at least give him confirmation into his own paranoid theories.

"I was just planning on working on my thesis. Unless you wanted to do something?"

Glancing down at the mug in his hands, Arthur knew it was either now or never. If he wanted to figure out the mess that was his life he needed to ask for help. And given the fact that the only person he trusted had his own life to deal with, he would need to ask the woman sitting across the kitchen, and hope for the best.

"I was – well wondering if you'd," he stammered, still unable to look Ariadne in the eyes, "if you'd be willing to go down with me. I need someone to tell me I'm not going crazy, that there is something down there watching me just out of arm's reach."

There. He'd finally gotten off of his chest what he needed to. If Ariadne thought he was crazy, so be it. If not, if she actually agreed to go down there with him, he would find some sort of way to pay her back. Supposedly money wasn't an issue, so he would find something she wanted or needed and would made it happen for her. Just as long as she helped him decipher everything that he'd seen down there.

"Are you sure, Arthur? I know you and Eames used to. Or at least that was the impression I'd gotten from him."

The admission was like someone had pushed ice water through his veins. Arthur had no idea he and Eames had shared dreams together. He'd never mentioned it during their discussions, or used it against him in their fights. Why? Why hadn't he mentioned all of that? For the first time he'd wished the man hadn't just up and left. There were still so many questions he had, and it seemed like they all led back to the man he used to live with, someone who was conveniently missing.

"I'm sure," he admitted, finally finding the courage to look at the woman, "I mean Dom seems to trust you, so what's the worst that can happen?"

It wasn't as if they were going to be going down more than one layer. There would be no reason for them to drop into limbo. Arthur knew the worst that would happen is his own security getting the better of them, and they'd either be ripped apart, or forced to shoot themselves out of a dream. Something he was certain they'd both done more than a few times. So, all that was left was to know whether or not she was willing to help him out, or if he'd be on his own once again.

"If you're sure. Just give me a couple hours, and we'll go see what's going on in that head of yours."

After that their conversation drifted back to other aspects of dream crime, the jobs he could remember pulling off, and those Ariadne had told him about having second-hand knowledge. There was still a lingering doubt about the fact he'd been part of the team that pulled off inception. Arthur knew that many teams were trying to perform it, and even more had failed. He just couldn't accept that they'd succeeded when so many hadn't. Even Eames had told him that at some point, and like he had with everyone else, he called him a liar. Right to his face, and the pained look still haunted his thoughts. If only he knew the reason _why_.

A couple hours later, Arthur found himself nervously sitting on the floor, the PASIV sitting on a small table in front of him. This was going to be the first time he'd gone under with someone since he'd found the device in his old apartment. He knew he shouldn't be scared, or nervous. He'd gone under plenty of times with others. And apparently he'd taken someone into his own private dreams. This was no different. Not really, he told himself in an attempt to soothe his nerves.

"Are you _certain_? We don't have – "

"I'm certain, Ariadne," he cut her off, dragging out one of the lines from the metal case. Arthur refused to allow his own psyche to get the better of him. He wasn't some tourist, or rookie when it came to what they were about to it. His own fears weren't going to get the better of him. He was stronger than that. And inserting the cannula into his wrist, waited until Ariadne had done the same before setting the timer and pushing the plunger that dispersed the somnacin.

When he woke it was to a familiar sight. Each time he'd gone down into his own dreams the architecture was the same, like he'd taken bits and pieces of all the cities he'd visited and thrown them together into one city. As oddly familiar as it was, Arthur could instantly feel like they weren't alone, and looking towards his right, sighed when he saw Ariande was next to him, looking around in awe.

"I forget how much I enjoy going into your dreams, Arthur. It's like walking through the pages of an architectural history book with the different types of buildings you use."

Arthur wasn't too sure how to take such a compliment. The word unimaginative always seemed to pop up, and while he couldn't quite understand why, looking around at the city he knew it wasn't true. It had to take some sort of imagination to come up with the city he'd made for himself. Right? This sort of thing just wasn't possible without creativity. That's what he'd always told himself, at least.

"Thanks," he told her, motioning that they start walking, "I think." He'd never know just how to take compliments. Even as a child he'd never known if people were serious or if they were just kidding around with him. To save himself embarrassment, he'd always assumed they were joking, and deal with strange looks were they actually serious about it. And judging by the look Ariadne was giving him, she'd been serious about the words she'd given him.

Shrugging his shoulders, he continued to lead them through the first part of his city. Every few blocks it seemed to change. Not just in architecture, but in mood as well. They'd initially woken up in what he had assumed was his version of New York City. Now, they seemed to be walking through his version of London, and Arthur had no idea just where they would end up. The weather had also changed from a warm spring-like day to what he assumed was fall like weather, with the clouds above them threatening to open up.

"So, can you feel anything different, like someone is watching us?" Arthur could feel the eyes on him. Just the one. Like the last time he'd come down here. Whoever or whatever it was never made itself known, and he'd never seen them. It was just the eerily presence that let him know they weren't alone in his dream. And it was more than just a bit unnerving.

"No. Nothing, Arthur. Maybe it's just in your own head? Maybe it's the memories from before the accident?"

It was as plausible excuse as anything else he'd contemplated. Though, if he were honest with himself he hadn't thought the memories of before the accident would actually manifest themselves as some sort of shadow. He figured it was something else entirely. But now it actually made some sort of sense. Then why didn't it show itself? Why was it continually lurking in the shadows where he couldn't see it? And why did he feel so damn nervous, like this was his first time being down in a dream?

"I guess we just keep exploring," he stated, his eyes still scanning the landscape, "unless you want to go back?"

Arthur wouldn't have blamed her if she'd wanted to go back. They'd been lucky so far. His projections had eyed them both rather curiously, a couple looked like they were contemplating more violent action, but none actually went through with it. The longer they stayed the more likely they were going to end up tempting fate. Not that he cared, but he did like to think that Ariadne would prefer allowing the timer to run out to being ripped limb from limb.

Glancing over and seeing the grin on Ariadne's face was enough of an answer for him. She seemed okay with exploring the dream further and if she was okay than so was he. If only he could say the same about the landscape of his dream. The further they went the darker things seemed to get. Not just the weather, but the actual dream itself. The buildings seemed to take on a more gothic feeling, while the projections seemed to be far more interested in them than they had been before. And then there was that feeling of being watched.

The further they went the stronger it became. Arthur was at the point where he normally would have said it was time to go back, but his curiosity was currently winning out. He'd never been this far, and he wanted to know what his subconscious was hiding away down here.

"Arthur, something about all of this seems off."

"Agreed," he replied, hesitant to continue forward no matter how much he wanted to, "maybe we should go back?"

"Yeah, that might be – Eames? What are you doing down here?"

Eames? Hadn't Ariadne told him he'd left on some sort of business trip? She'd given him the letter the other man had left, but he'd yet to really open it up. Whatever the man had to say wasn't something he wanted to read. They'd said their words the night he left the apartment and nothing was going to change his opinion that they were better off apart than together. He honestly had no feelings for the man, and ignoring the fact that the bed he was currently staying in felt too big for just himself, Arthur had a feeling that whatever was between them was now over. Which didn't explain _why_ he was currently in _his_ dream.

"Ariadne! Lovely to see you again. Unfortunately, Arthur and I need to talk, which means it's time for you to leave."

Before he could do anything, he watched as Eames pulled out a gun and shot Ariadne point blank in the head. Arthur had shot himself, and others out of a dream before. But seeing it, watching as someone he'd specifically asked down into his own dream was a shock to his system.

"What the – you – you just – what the fuck?!"

Every instinct within him told him to run, or dream up a gun and shoot himself out of the dream. Were it not for the fact his feet felt like they were cemented in place, he would have done exactly that. Instead, he stood there and watched as Eames casually strolled over to him like he'd done nothing wrong.

"Arthur, poppet, calm down."

"Calm down?! You just _shot_ her," he yelled back, his defences still firmly in place, "and yes I know it just woke her up, but you didn't have to do that."

Christ this wasn't what he'd expected when he asked Ariadne to come down into his dream. He'd thought at best they'd finally figure out what was going on inside of his head, why he felt like each time he came into the dream he was constantly being watched. It seemed like the answer was now standing right in front of him. But why? Why was _he_ of all people stalking him in his dreams?

"Actually, I did."

Arthur was confused, and the look on his face was probably proof of that. Why did he have to shoot Ariadne out of the dream right then and there? What was so important about _this_ place? Looking around certain things were starting to make more sense. The architecture wasn't gothic. It was distinctly Parisian. Off in the distance he saw the Eiffel tower, and over Eames' shoulder was –

"Isn't that café down the street from our flat?"

How did he know that? _Why_ did he know that? He'd been to Paris a few times, and had met up with Mal and Dom there on occasion. But he didn't own a flat there, let alone _share_ one. Did he? No, of course he didn't. He had a place in Chicago, one in Berlin, and one somewhere else, but most definitely _not_ in Paris. None of this made any sense, and once again he felt a headache start to form.

"Mhm, it is. Though are you alright? You seem a bit – off?"

A bit off was putting things mildly, but Arthur wasn't about to confirm that particular piece of information. None of it seemed right. Here he was, having some sort of conversation with what he assumed was a projection, and it was asking _him_ if he was okay. How was that even possible? Was his subconscious that fucked up that he needed some sort of protection? Or had he finally cracked, and this was all just the beginning?

"I'm _fine_ ," he snapped, running a hand over his head, "just explain to me what you're doing here, and why you shot Ariadne out? I mean the timer would eventually kick us both out, why get rid of her?"

"You don't know? Well that explains a lot."

For a brief moment Arthur wondered if it were possible to deck a projection and have them feel some sort of pain. Normally he just killed them while on the job. But his own were usually harmless so he felt no need to use violence on them. At least not until now. How had they actually lasted as a couple in reality if all he felt was the immense desire to shoot him?

"Care to explain to _me_?" If he didn't get any sort of answers he would not only shoot the projection, but himself as well. Whatever game the man was playing wasn't one he wanted to engage in. All he wanted was answers, and if necessary he would resort to violence to actually get them.

"You and well, the real me, are the only ones allowed this far. Only reason I let you bring Ariadne so far was I figured you would tell her you needed some privacy. When you didn't, I had to step in, and remove her. _Your_ rules, not mine."

Okay so that explained some things, but not all of them. Why did he have some sort of projection set up to protect this part of his city? What was so important about it, and that café, that required someone to watch over it when he wasn't there? His head was starting to throb the longer he thought about it, and all he wanted was the truth.

"But _why_? Why set all of this up? For what purpose?"

"Protection, Arthur."

" _What_ are you protecting? Why _you_? I mean why would I pick someone I loathe," he demanded, surprised at the familiar feeling of his Glock in his right hand.

"Ask yourself this. Do you really _loathe_ me? If I'm here what does that tell you, hmm?"

"That it's time for me to get the hell out of this dream," he answered, pulling the trigger.

When his eyes opened up, he found himself back in Ariadne's living room. Arthur quickly pushed himself back up into a sitting position, and frantically scanned the room in search for the woman. He heard rather than saw her, and ripping out the cannula, he meticulously coiled the tubing back into the case, and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him. It didn't matter what that projection had said, or why he knew about that café. He was in a dream, _his_ dream, and for all he knew it could have been fabricated to protect himself.

If that were the case, then why did it _feel_ like the truth? Why did it _feel_ like the missing part of him could be found down in that café? And why did he cling onto the fact that maybe Eames had been right, that if he truly loathed the man he wouldn't have been there in his dream?


	11. Chapter 11

It had taken days for Arthur to digest everything that had happened down in the dream. The words kept echoing around in his head, taunting him with the familiarity of it all. Each time he closed his eyes he could see, and hear the projection, _Eames_ he reminded himself, ask him that same question over and over again. And each time he couldn't even form an answer. That would mean he actually had something to say, when in actuality he didn't. Nothing he could say would ever make sense. Not without further information. And each time he tried to make sense of it, the pounding behind his eyes returned tenfold.

But he couldn't quite let go of what that projection had said. If he truly loathed the man why was he down there, why was he the one protecting whatever it was he was protecting down there? And why the hell couldn't it make more sense than it did? It was like the information was right there, staring him in the face and all he had to do was reach out and grab it. He hated knowing it was all right there waiting for him. Time and time again he'd been frustrated by not only his inability to remember things he clearly should have remembered, but by his lack of progress in recovering said memories. His body had fully recovered, so why hadn't his mind?

As if that wasn't bad enough, Ariadne kept needling him into explaining why Eames was in his dream, and why he'd shot her out as if it were a common occurrence. He'd tried to tell her that he would explain it all in good time, that he still needed to sort it out in his own head, and that once he had he would talk to her. Arthur had hoped that would have been enough. But every once and a while she would find a way to bring it up in their conversations. And each and every time he politely shot her down, the last time having given her the type of glare he reserved for when Cobb was being an ass, the one that said one more word and you were dead.

And then there was the PAISV. It was still sitting in his room, still taunting him. He probably should have put it away, some place where he didn't have to constantly look at it. Arthur just couldn't bring himself to do so. Something told him that the metallic case, and the drugs inside, were the keys to figuring out why certain things were starting to become familiar, and why he couldn't quite shake certain feelings. Like the longer he slept in that bed, the worse the feeling of loneliness became, or why he would recognize certain images that were dotted around Ariadne's house even though, as far as he knew, he'd never been there. He just couldn't bring himself to return to the dream, even though the dream was quite possibly the key.

As weeks passed, Arthur found himself unable to completely ignore the PASIV. He'd gone under only twice since the initial time with Ariadne, and just like before he found himself alone, albeit with his projection of Eames constantly watching him from just out of reach. It should have been disconcerting, the feeling of being watched by something that wasn't one of his generalized projections. But it wasn't. He wasn't sure he could call it comforting, but it wasn't as strange as it'd been when he first realized he was being watched. It still didn't explain _why_ he was there, and just _what_ he was protecting. And it wasn't like he could talk to anyone about it. No one would know, nor understand. It was all locked away inside of his head, just waiting for him to figure it all out. If only he knew how to unlock it…

The perfect opening had been given when Ariadne had declared she was going out, and asked if he wanted to tag along. In the past, Arthur might have actually gone along with her, preferring company to sitting at home alone. But their discussion a few days previously had him wanting to stay in. He hadn't mentioned the possibility of going back under. She had this mothering type instinct that made her want to be around whenever he decided to use the PASIV, and he was at the point where it was becoming unbearable. Her decision to go out couldn't have come at a better time, as he was starting to contemplate new places for him to stay.

But once she was gone, he retreated to his room, and dug out the silver case, placing it on the floor next to his bed. It had been more than a week since he'd last gone down, and while Arthur had told himself he would find another way to figure out what it all meant, he knew the PASIV was the only way. Once he'd actually tried to explain things to the doctor, and got the same old bullshit in return – his mind was starting to remember and he just had to work on it, to continue surrounding himself with familiarity and in time some of his memories would come back.

Having worked in others subconscious', he knew it wouldn't just come back on his own. It would have already if that was the case. As it hadn't, it meant that his projection of Eames and whatever it was he was protecting were the key to restoring his memories. Which meant facing the man, still uncertain why he would have been placed there in the first place. It made him uneasy. Not knowing the specifics. He'd always wanted to know the whys and the hows, and whatever else he could find. Especially now as none of it made sense.

And then he remembered the first time he'd ever heard of dream sharing, and the feeling of uncertainty along with the unknown. Arthur remembered the feeling of dread and fear, and how it was mixed with a thrill he couldn't put to words. He also remembered the words from Mal, how she always had this way of saying things that made any of the trepidations he was feeling just disappear. She wasn't there to help ease his fears, wasn't there to remind him that it was okay to embrace the unknown. But he could take some form of comfort in knowing that this wasn't the first time he'd doubted himself, hadn't had all the facts in front him.

Inserting the cannula into his wrist, he laid back against the bed, and reached down to push the plunger. Arthur had set the timer for ten minutes in the real world, giving him enough time to gather whatever information he needed down in the dream. It also gave him time to talk with his projection of Eames. He knew it was silly – to expect the projection to explain why certain things felt so out of place; like the bed feeling too big for just one person, or why, when he went down to Pike's Place Market, he felt like something, or more specifically _someone,_ was missing. But if he could get any sort of answers from the projection, he would.

When he woke up in the dream, he was startled to find himself not in the one from before, but in what looked like Paris. It was quite possible that since he'd gone to sleep with Mal on his mind, his dream automatically went with the last time they'd been together – a small café in the sixth arondissement near the river. Unlike their actual meeting, the dream was set at night, and his projections were going to and fro, acting like nothing was out of place. Which meant trying to find the one projection he actually needed to was going to be a bit difficult. The last dream he had a feeling of which way to go. Looking around this one, he felt just as lost here as he did top side.

Standing around, though, wasn't going to get him anywhere. If this truly was the sixth arondissement, his favourite café would be near by, and while he knew there was no point in eating in a dream it would at least give him something to do, something to take his mind off the fact that his own dream had thrown him for a minor loop. Arthur wasn't disappointed that things were different. Every dream presented its own unique challenges and difficulties. And he enjoyed a challenge. Especially when it came to a job.

But this wasn't technically a job. This was him trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack, with the needle being a projection. Arthur couldn't even sense him, something which he'd strangely become accustomed to. It had him automatically on edge, wondering if something had happened. As strange as it seemed, he'd become used to knowing Eames was there. Even if he was constantly in the shadows, he was always there watching him like some sort of protector. Now, though, without that particular feeling he felt oddly out of place, like it wasn't his dream after all, and and out of habit he dug into his pocket looking for the loaded die that would tell him one way or another before he came to the realisation that he was worrying over a _projection_.

There was nothing that could happen to him, Arthur reminded himself, he was nothing more than a figment of his own subconscious. He wasn't _real_ , and a feeling of disappointment shot through his body as he came to that realization. Was that a normal feeling? Or was that from his old life? The one he couldn't remember? Again, he hated not understanding what it all meant, why he felt disappointment in knowing that Eames wasn't real, that top side they weren't even in the same country, that they weren't even friends. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn't it make any sort of sense?

Not for the first time did he feel the frustration bubble up to the surface, and all he could think of was just how unfair it all was. His memories were gone, he couldn't explain the feelings that continually hit him at the oddest moments, and for some unknown reason he had a man he loathed wandering around his subconscious. Pushing it all aside, he walked into the café, and ordered his usual – a café americano. While he waited for the girl behind the counter, he scanned over the building out of habit. Normally it was his job to be on the lookout for anything _suspicious_. With this being his own dream the only thing that would really stand out was a certain projection that tended to lurk in the shadows.

While that particular projection hadn't caught his eye, another one had. From the back it looked familiar – sitting outside at one of the tables, her shoulder length hair the same colour as one he'd seen before, back in his real life. But it was impossible, he told himself rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. Mal was dead, and to have her show up in his dream would mean – what? That his subconscious was even more fucked up than he initially thought? Or did it have something to do with what he'd been thinking about before he hit the plunger?

Once again he felt the pain start to return, the back of his head begging to throb, and grabbing the drink that had been placed beside him, Arthur walked out of the café and towards the table, stopping when he found himself standing off to the side. Even under the glow from the lights of the café he could tell the woman at the table was Mal. But she was dead. Had been for a while, or so they'd all told him. His memories were that of having seen her in France before he shipped out for a long term job in Hong Kong. But there she was, sitting in _his_ café as if nothing had happened.

“Mal,” he managed to say, his voice barely above that of a whisper.

“Arthur! Mon cher!” She greeted, motioning him to join her at the table.

It was odd seeing, and _hearing_ , her greet him like nothing had changed. Arthur couldn't quite grasp the fact that she was in his dream, let alone inviting him to join her at the table. She wasn't his shade. She couldn't be. They were nothing more than close friends, having the strange brother/sister type relationship. Mal only had eyes for Cobb, and had always warned him about his choices of dates just like an older sister would do. Why was she there? What purpose did she have in his dreams, his thoughts? And just how much damage had his head taken in the accident?

The throbbing in his head was slowly getting worse, and without even thinking twice, he decided to join Mal, and see if maybe she could shed some light into his problems. Arthur knew it was unlikely he'd find anything useful. It was the same thing he'd thought when he contemplated finding the projection of Eames. They were nothing more than bits of his subconscious, and wouldn't have any sort of information for him. It didn't mean he couldn't at least try.

“I miss you, Mal,” he admitted, ducking his head, “it seems not all that long ago that we were discussing how much of an idiot I'd been when I decided to date that extractor from Paris.”

The man had been completely opposite from his usual, but at the time he'd wanted something different, something that was out of his comfort zone. Marteen had been the worst mistake of his relatively young criminal life, and he'd spent _hours_ pouring over his stupidity to Mal. And, like the good friend she was, he remembered her sitting there and listening to him, never saying a word until he was done. Then it was nothing more than she'd hoped he had learned his lesson. Had he ever. Never again would he date someone within the dream sharing community. A promise he'd kept, it seemed, until he met Eames, and then everything seemed to have changed.

“I know, and yet life moves on whether or not we're ready for it to,” she calmly explained, eyeing the young man across the table, “why are you here? You never seemed like the type to lose themselves in a dream.”

Leave it to Mal to cut right to the heart of the problem, he mused sipping on his coffee. Just like in life, it seemed that in the dream she refused to beat around the proverbial bush. Arthur just wasn't sure how to exactly answer her question. He was there for answers, and yet he _knew_ the answers he was looking for were next to impossible for him to get. It wasn't like he could perform some sort of extraction on the projection of Eames.

“Answers,” he confessed, “as stupid as this sounds I just wanted to know why there's a projection down here of someone I loathe, and what it is he's protecting, and why thinking about him makes me feel – feel like a part of me is missing.”

He couldn't explain just what it was he felt when he thought about Eames. None of his friends could explain it either, other than to let him know they were colleagues, and there might have been something more but they weren't privy to that information. Were they more like the real life version had tried to thrum into his head? Or were they nothing more than friends? If they were friends why were they living together in what amassed to nothing more than a one bedroom apartment?

“You two must mean a great deal to each other if he's down here in your dreams,” Mal explained, tapping out an unknown rhythm on the table, “there's no other reason other than that. You don't remember the conversation we had about that? About using a projection to protect that which we hold dearest?”

Leaning back against his chair, Arthur had to dig deep within his memories to find that particular conversation. It wasn't one that he remembered often, and if he were honest, it wasn't one he had been paying full attention to. The whole thing seemed absurd. But now, as he replayed what he remembered of the conversation in his head, he saw the pieces starting to click into place. The idea was that a dreamer would lock away those memories that they valued the most, those that could be used against them and placed them deep within their subconscious, leaving someone only the real dreamer would recognize to guard them.

“Are you saying that he's – what? Protecting my memories?”

“That's exactly what I'm doing.”

The voice that answered his question hadn't been one Arthur was expecting, and out of instinct, jumped out of the chair to confront their visitor. What he saw, on the other hand, had him hurting in a way he hadn't expected. Eames, or at least the projection of him, looked – hurt? – somehow at seeing him again. Why? Why would he look that way? Unless it was just what he saw and what really wasn't going on.

“ _Must_ you do that,” he said, forcing his heart to slow from its racing pace, “what would you have done had I shot you? What would have happened?”

“You wouldn't have shot me,” Eames explained, “I'm just as much a part of you as Mal is, and you wouldn't shoot either one of us. Not the real you, that is.”

Not the real him? What the hell did _that_ mean? Rubbing the spot between his eyes, Arthur knew he was only going to go around in circles trying to get the information he wanted. It was also going to give him more of a headache than he already had. But he couldn't just let it go. He _needed_ to know. Which meant it was time to start looking at things from a point man point of view. If he'd locked away certain memories, leaving someone who meant a great deal to him to watch over them, would unlocking those memories fix his current problem?

“What memories are back there,” he asked, directing his gaze towards Eames, “and how many of them are there?”

“That's not for me to say. If you want to know you need to visit them yourself.”

Himself. As in all alone. With no one there by his side. Arthur wasn't sure why that very thought hurt. Just that it did, and he was quite certain that feeling was plastered all over his face. He didn't even know if he was strong enough to look at memories that may or may not have been his own. What if he started looking at the memories and nothing happened? What if he ended up worse than when he'd initially started coming down there? If this were a client, and not himself, he knew he could face them down no problem. His own memories were ones he couldn't bare to face. At least not by himself.

“I don't think I can,” he told him, his voice wavering, “not now at least.”

“Maybe not now, mon cher. But eventually you will. The answers you're looking for may very well be in the one place you're afraid to look.”

Turning around and facing Mal, Arthur didn't even have the chance to say anything as the projection had shot him right out of the dream. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in his room, he wondered if maybe her words didn't hold just a bit of truth, that maybe those answers he was looking for weren't the ones that the projection was hiding away. It was something he would think about at least, something to bide the time as he tried to find the courage to face his own fears.


	12. Chapter 12

Six weeks he'd spent in Berlin, spinning his proverbial wheels as his contacts worked to flush Lucas from Singapore. Six weeks coming up with all sorts of ideas and plans for once he'd gotten his hands on the former extractor. Eames hated sitting around, waiting for the time when he could finally grab the guy who had completely screwed up his life. It gave him far too much time to think, and being idle wasn't something he could handle. Not on his own. Idleness also tended to bring out the worst in him, making his company something that should be avoided.

It also didn't help that in that time he'd heard from Ariadne once, letting him know that Arthur was fine, and spending time in the PASIV. He should have felt upset, knowing the man had returned to the life he supposedly had left behind after the Fischer job. But he didn't. He felt nothing at all. All his feelings were channelled into finding Lucas and making him pay for the hell he'd put them all through. Any and all feelings he'd had for Arthur were gone, locked away to be forgotten. They no longer had anything in common, and while he wanted to feel like a fool for hanging on to hope for as long as he had, he refused to. He'd done what he did out of love, and nothing more.

When news finally came he wasted no time at all packing up his stuff, and taking the first flight to Madrid. His friends had worked hard but they'd finally flushed him back to the continent, and with their tracking had finally pinned him down to a small flat in Madrid. Eames wasn't too fond of the city, remembering the jobs he and Arthur used to work there, but knowing his target was within his grasp he put aside all his bad feelings. The endgame was within his grasp. All he had to do was be patient.

The first few days he'd spent casually observing his mark, learning his patterns, the part of town he'd decided to hide out in, his favourite place to eat, to shop, to drink. Eames would need whatever information he could get in order to form a foolproof plan. The ones he'd thought about during his stay in Berlin wouldn't have worked. They were full of too many holes, too many places where he could find himself staring down the wrong end of a gun. He'd allowed his emotions to get the better of him, and now that he knew exactly what he was dealing with he could make the necessary changes.

First of which was to figure out how best to get the mark back to the room he'd setup for his plan. Eames had brought his own personal PASIV with him in the hopes that he could drag his target back to the room, and force him under. Once he'd put them both into a dream, he'd thought about all the ways he could torture the man, remind him of the pain he'd inflicted over not just one life but many, show him just how revenge should be handled. None of his mates knew what he was planning. No one other than himself, and for now that was as much out of necessity than anything else.

A week after his arrival, he'd decided on the appropriate time to snag his mark. Each day, around lunch time, he made his way from his flat towards a little market nearby. He then spends an hour wandering through, picking out his eventual lunch before he goes to the nearby park. Eames knew that once he made it to the market it would be extremely difficult for him to grab the man. Same thing if he somehow made it to the park. He would need to grab him between his flat and the market, and hope he could find a way to drag him back to the room he'd been renting not far away. And if he couldn't? It wouldn't be the first time he found out why the Spanish police weren't to be trifled with.

The building across from Lucas' flat made for a perfect place to watch, and as he leaned up against the wall, smoking his third fag of the day, he wondered just when his man was going to make his appearance. Every other day he had either left his flat by now, or would be exiting it. But nothing. For a brief moment Eames wondered if maybe the man had been tipped off. He was one of the best when it came to tracking marks, knowing just how to blend in with his surroundings. Had his own emotions gotten in the way of the job? Had he been _stupid_ enough to let them?

Seeing the mark exit the building, he allowed himself to breathe, not even realizing he'd been holding his breath. He was so close, and if his own stupidity sabotaged the job he knew he was going to forever kick himself for it. Luckily his target exited the building, and waiting a few brief moments, Eames started to follow him. The streets were crowded, people walking to and from the market, and yet the only thing in his sights was the man ahead of him. They still had a few blocks to go before they reached the market. Plenty of time for him to grab him, and drag him back to his room. All he had to do was bide his time.

Unfortunately, time seemed to have run out. Eames didn't know if it was his mark's innate paranoia, or maybe he'd given himself away. All he knew was that when their eyes met, the other man bolted towards the market, and all he could do was give chase. The amount of people on the street made it difficult, and with his step he took he was constantly having to yell for people to get out of the way. It was utter chaos, and he could see his mark slowly pulling away. If the man made it to the market it was over. Everything he'd worked for would be over.

Forcing his feet to propel him further, he dug deep within his reserves to chase Lucas down. Slowly but surely he could see the distance between them get smaller and smaller. The only problem was with each step they took, the market was quickly becoming an option for his target to hide in. Eames didn't want this. He just wanted to grab the man, and exact the revenge he'd promised himself the instant he'd seen the image at the hospital. Chasing down targets wasn't his thing. At least not in the real world. A dream, and his opinion would all but change.

“No, no, no,” he hissed between breaths as he ran. Eames knew his one and only chance was slipping through his hands. They'd made it to the market faster than he'd thought they would, and watching the man blend into the crowd, the only thing going through his head was his own anger. He didn't know if they would get another chance, and even if they did the man would be on the lookout for them.

He refused to accept defeat, and turning on his heels, returned back to the room he'd rented. They'd flushed him out of hiding once before, and Eames knew they could do it again. Next time, though, they would have to make certain they flushed him towards a country with fewer large cities, and a place they could force him to stay. It would also need to be a country he could easily slip into, and out of, without attracting any sort of attention. All of it, though, was something they could discuss when he returned to Berlin.

* * * * *

Each time he closed his eyes, the same nightmare played out. Arthur was down in the dream, the one where he'd met with Mal and Eames, and instead of the conversation they'd had they were interrogating him, wanting information on his life and why he'd given up the criminal life. He couldn't answer them because he didn't know. In his head he'd never left, and was just waiting for the right time to look into jobs. Of course they never believed it, and some of their interrogation tactics bordered on the illegal. In the end they eventually believed him, and when he woke up it was to his body shaking in fear, and sweat having soaked his shirt and sweats.

He never told Ariadne any of it. Not even Cobb, someone he used to trust. The nightmares were something he kept to himself, and knew it had everything to do with the task he was continually pushing off. He _knew_ he would eventually find the courage to go back down, and face his memories. It was just a matter of time. But his fear constantly kept him from doing so. Something about the whole situation had him feeling like it was a bad idea. What was so wrong with his current life? He was alive, and could easily get back into his old job. _It's not your life_ kept echoing in his head, the voice of Eames reminding him of that time and time again. It may not have been his life, but it was the only one he knew.

Again he found himself staring at the silver case, and again Arthur wondered when he'd become such a coward. How difficult would it be for him to just go down into the dream, and face his memories? He'd faced far worse in the dreams, remembering the time when he'd been shot and stabbed and still needed someone to shoot him out of it. These were nothing more than innocent memories, something that might actually help his situation. It could also make it worse, and he had a feeling that was what he kept clinging to. Somewhere he _knew_ that it wasn't possible to make things worse, but it didn't stop him from thinking about it.

Eventually he found the courage and once again opened up the silver case, and uncoiled the plastic tubing. Arthur knew Ariadne would be gone for most of the day, and while he hadn't felt the need to leave a message for her before, this time he told her he'd decided to go under again. Just what for he left out, preferring to keep it all a secret. No one needed to know just why he was continually going under. Everyone had their secrets, right? Well, his were ones he wouldn't share. At least not until he felt the need to. And since no one had yet to ask him about it, he was certain he could just keep up the façade he'd been using since he'd started using the machine again.

Opening up his eyes, Arthur was relieved to find himself back in the dream he'd taken Ariadne into, and not the one where he'd found Mal. He wasn't sure he could even deal with that again. Not with the nightmares that continued to plague what little sleep he could get. In all honesty, he was surprised the woman hadn't called him out on his lack of sleep, or the fact he tended to take longer and longer each morning to make his appearance. Anything to let him know that someone noticed his sleeping problems. Unless it was something that came with their line of work, something that he'd been dealing with far longer than he could remember.

If it was, it was something he could ask another time. He was there with a purpose, and while he wouldn't have minded the distractions the timer was only set for so long and he didn't want to be in the middle of memory lane when it ran out. Not that Arthur was actually looking forward to seeing what all Eames was protecting. He still couldn't get the thought of having the man protecting something as precious as his memories. Especially as they didn't even _like_ each other. No matter what anyone said there was no way he could _like_ someone like _that_. The man wasn't his type, wasn't even close to his type, and he found it next to impossible they would be together. It had to be some sort of joke that he'd missed out on.

Though has he continued to walk towards the café he knew the projection would be waiting at, Arthur wondered if maybe it wasn't some sort of joke. He vaguely remembered the photos in the apartment topside, how he and Eames were in some and others were just one or the other, how they were living together in just one bedroom while the other was an office slash art studio. Would two people who loathed each other share such an intimate space together? The answer was clear as day, but the questions that kept popping up meant his focus was constantly switching between it and the dream.

Luckily he reached the café before he had any more time to ponder the questions that were constantly popping up. Arthur had no time to deal with them _and_ the memories that he'd told Eames he would eventually come back to see. He didn't _want_ to see the memories, to see what may or may not have been his life. It terrified him to think that he was going to see something that may or may not have been true. He knew it was his own dream but he wasn't sure if the memories were real or had been somehow tampered with.

"I assure you they are all yours. You've got the best sub-security in the business."

"Damn it, Eames," Arthur snapped back, pushing down his desire to once again shoot the man, " _must_ you continually do that?" Not like the projection would actually heed his warning, but it at least eased his mind to berate him.

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

Seeing the other man shrug at his question only served to frustrate him further. Arthur knew it was pointless to think the projection would actually answer his questions truthfully. And he wasn't about to extract information like it was some sort of job. All he could do was just accept things for what they were and proceed with his plan. Procrastination would only give him a brief respite, and allow the timer to run out before it was done.

"So how does this all work," he asked, rubbing the back of his neck, "I mean you said they were in that café," he added, nodding towards the building behind Eames. Arthur didn't even remember setting all of this up so knowing just what they were supposed to do was a bit of a mystery to him. Did he just walk in and look for some sort of trigger? What was he supposed to actually _do_? Though when it hit him he was asking a _projection_ , of all things, he started to laugh, and didn't stop until he heard Eames clear his throat.

"Everything okay, Arthur?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just – " he replied, waving his hand to dismiss his thoughts. Asking a projection to explain what the hell he was supposed to do was one of the more absurd things he'd done lately. Not including the fact he had had conversations with not just one projection, but _two_. Arthur didn't even want to know what that said about his own subconscious. Especially as it was probably a psychiatrist's dream come true. This was one of those times where he was more than happy to just live in pure ignorance.

"C'mon," he said, walking towards the small café, "if I'm going in there than so are you." There was absolutely no way he was going into the building on his own. Yes he was an adult, and no he didn't need someone to hold his proverbial hand and walk with him. But without any sort of knowledge as to what was going to happen, or what he needed to do, Arthur found himself unable to walk in unless he knew the projection of Eames was by his side.

"You sure? You don't want to do any of this on your own?"

Arthur levelled a glare that he normally reserved for the real Eames, one that said you're doing this whether or not you want to so don't bother arguing. Seeing the projection react the exact same way, his hands going up in surrender and a slight look of fear settling into his eyes, had him both relaxing and on edge at the same time. How did he know that particular look would placate the situation? Was it one he'd given Eames before?

"Sorry," he apologized, rubbing his temples, "each time I come down here I keep getting more flashes of things that should be familiar but aren't. I just wish I could remember instead of feeling like I'm grasping at straws."

Arthur hated feeling like he was weak, like he couldn't even control his own life, and not for the first time wondered just what he was going to accomplish by walking into the café. They'd told him the answers he needed were there, and that if he wanted to know he'd have to look himself. But what if he didn't want to know? What if he was fine with life as it was? Nothing said he couldn't just slip back into dream crime and disappear once again. Nothing other than the constant voice reminding him that his current life wasn't his.

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid –"

"I'm _not_ afraid, Eames."

"You _are_ , Arthur. But that's okay. I'll keep the monsters at bay for you."

The projection was actually _teasing_ him. _Teasing_ , and he had no idea just how to take it. His first reaction had been to punch him, but what good would that have done? None, other than to leave him with bruised knuckles and phantom pain that he'd have to deal with for a few moments topside.

"Is the real you just as bad?" He asked, shaking his head, "if so I can see why I constantly feel the need to shoot you."

"Oh I'm sure by now he's _much_ worse."

Allowing Eames to lead the way, Arthur followed him into the empty café. The other shops he'd passed seemed to be bristling with life, and yet this one was void of it. Was it because of the things that it contained? Had they created it this way, empty of everything except the memories that were held within? As much as he wanted to know, there was that voice that told him he was better off staying in the dark. Eventually, if the memories somehow returned, he would know. Until that time, he would just keep the questions to himself.

When they got to what should have been the back of the building, Arthur found himself staring down a long, dimly lit hallway. On either side were roughly a dozen or so doors, each one labelled with a different number. Did they mean anything? Or were they just randomly created? And why did he choose a café, of all places? Did it have something to do with the fact that it was familiar territory? Or did it have some sort of special meaning?

"Any particular order?"

Arthur hated the way his words were still tinted with fear. He'd asked in the hopes that maybe having some sort of idea of where to start might actually squash the fear that kept bubbling up. It would at least take his mind off the fact that he kept hearing bits and pieces of what sounded like muted conversations coming from the hall. They _were_ memories, he reminded himself, it would make sense that he could hear them.

"Nope. Just pick one, and see where it takes us."

Just pick one? That was it? No sarcasm, no witty comeback? Just randomly pick one and go from there? It seemed like a strange thing to suggest. Especially given his rather meticulous nature. Randomness wasn't normally something he felt comfortable with. But hearing it from the projection, Eames he reminded himself, it somehow felt _right_. Maybe, for once in his life, doing something out of his comfort zone could actually help, instead of throwing him off kilter.

Walking towards the door closest to them, seeing a number three on the door, Arthur hesitantly reached out for the knob. He could see his hands were shaking, more so than before and while he was trying to swallow down the fear, he felt the knot in his throat constantly get in his way. There was no way he could do this, and he'd only been kidding himself thinking he could. Normally he wasn't a coward, but staring at the door the only thought that ran through his head was run. Run, and never look back. It was only the comforting hand on his shoulder, the one that could have only come from Eames, that had him grasping the door knob, and opening it up.

"I remember this place," he said as they walked into what looked like a hotel room. It wasn't one of the high end ones he tended to stay in, and judging by the equipment laying around, it was being used for their meetings, and not for what it was originally intended for.

"It was the – third? – job that Dom, Mal and I worked together," he continued to explain, unable to contain the shock on his face as the memories just poured right in, "some businessman in Montreal, I think. Said we would need a forger, and Mal said she knew just – "

And that's when it hit him. This particular memory was the first time he'd met Eames. Mal had suggested him because they were old friends, and he supposedly was one of the better forgers in the business. The instant the man arrived they had started to bicker like children, and Arthur begged Mal to get rid of him before he really did shoot the man. Eames had gotten under his skin like no one else had, and the constant flirting and pet names had driven him to the point where he was contemplating finding a replacement point man instead. He just couldn't deal with it. So why would he have this hidden away?

"This doesn't make any sense," he said, turning around to face Eames, "why would I hide this away? It doesn't seem to hold any real value."

All the other man could do was shrug, giving Arthur the impression that even if he knew the answer he wouldn't readily give it. Again he contemplated the odds of successfully extracting the information from the projection. He hated the fact that he could remember the actual memory but not why he would actually hide it away. It was frustrating not having all the answers in front of him. There was something there he was missing, something that was staring him right in the face. But what?

Groaning in frustration, he leaned back against the wall, and rested his head in his hands, allowing his memories to fill in the rest of the job. Arthur doesn't really remember much, only that it was successful, and afterwards they decided to celebrate with take-out and alcohol in the very room they were standing in. He wasn't one to get drunk but with Mal's encouragement he drank more than he usually did. And probably said some things he wished he hadn't. But what struck him most wasn't what was said, but what wasn't. He remembers Eames just sitting there watching him, studying him he thought at the time, and while he would have found it a bit _odd_ , he found it strangely endearing.

Was that why he'd hidden it away? Was it because he may have found himself _crushing_ on the man? It seemed as plausible as anything else, and turning on his heels, dragged the projection back out of the room, and slammed the door behind them. At least now he understood the number three on the door. It represented something pertaining to the memory behind the door. Did the numbers on the others have the same significance? Or were they random like everything else seemed to be?

Only one way to find out, he mused, and crossed the hallway towards another door. The number adorning this particular door was the number one, and it had him wondering what the memory was behind it. Surely it wouldn't have been his first job, or the first time he used the PASIV.

"Any hints as to what I might find behind this door?"

"Arthur, that would be cheating. Where's the fun in knowing everything ahead of time?"

Sighing out of frustration, ignoring the fact that he still felt like shooting the projection, Arthur reached out and grabbed the knob. Unlike the last time, when his hand refused to stop shaking, this time his hand was steady. He could only hope that it was some sort of sign that the nerves that had been plaguing him since he'd dropped down into the dream had finally abated. If not he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

When he stepped through the open door, he wasn't prepared to walk out onto some sort of beach. He very _rarely_ went to the beach, and when he went on vacation it was normally to a place with museums, places where he could actually use his brain. A beach meant nothing more than one, big waste of time. So why would he have this sort of memory locked away? It didn't make any sense. Then again it was safe to say that none of it made any sort of sense. The first memory was the first time he'd met Eames. But this? He had absolutely no idea.

And speaking of the projection, Arthur wondered where the hell he was. The last memory he was standing right beside him, now he was nowhere to be found. Had he not bothered to walk into this one?Arthur turned around, trying to take in the memory when he found Eames walking in the surf, his pants rolled up to his knees. It didn't look like the one that had been out in the hall with him.

"Eames?" He called out, wondering if the projection had somehow changed his looks. It was a dream, and he knew it was possible to change appearances but he didn't think the Eames that had been outside the café would have changed his looks. Not when each and every time they'd spoken he'd looked exactly the same. Which meant he was dealing with his memory of the man. A little creepy when he actually thought about it. No one had been in the first memory, and now he was having to deal with someone he still wasn't too sure about.

And there was also the uncertainty. He wasn't sure if he should just stand there and watch, or make some sort of attempt to interact with the memory. Fortunately, the choice was taken from him. Arthur was just about to walk towards the Eames from his memory when their eyes met, and the cold, calculating look he received opened up the flood gates. It wasn't _his_ memory, per say, but a dream.

He remembered coming back to the hotel in Rome and finding Eames hooked up to the PASIV. It was only the fourth time they'd worked together, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. Arthur wanted to make certain there weren't any problems, and figured the best way was to find out himself. He remembered hooking himself up and dropping down into the forger's dream, shocked to find himself on a beach. The same beach he was currently standing on. And when he finally caught up to the forger, he remembered being shot right out, with the other man following soon after.

The fight they'd gotten into had him reeling, and wondering if maybe they shouldn't work together again. They'd exchanged some painful barbs, and argued about lack of trust and privacy. It hadn't mattered that he was making certain there weren't any problems, that he was only trying to look out for all of them. Arthur just remembered the pain he felt as he watched Eames storm out of the room. At the time he didn't think on it, but later when he looked back it dawned on him that that job was the first time he felt anything more than camaraderie for the forger, and that the hurt he felt watching the man exit the room was the realisation of his feelings.

Not wanting to stand in the memory any longer, he turned, and walked through the oddly placed door, allowing it to gently close behind him. Arthur wasn't even sure what he should be feeling. The first dream left him feeling irritated, like how he felt before he left the apartment and moved in with Ariadne. This time, though, he felt like he'd intruded on something personal, like he shouldn't have even been there.

"You knew that was there didn't you," he asked, his words barely above a whisper, "you knew and didn't bother to say anything."

"It wasn't my place to say anything."

Wasn't his place? He was guarding memories, and yet it wasn't his place to say? As confused as he was before, it all seeped out of him, quickly replaced with anger. If the projection knew what was behind each door, Arthur wanted to know before he walked into something like he'd just walked out of. He _hated_ not knowing what the hell as going on. Even now with his lack of memories, he hated the unknown. But staring at Eames he could see the hurt, the regret hidden behind the blue-grey eyes, and he may have felt a little guilty for thinking angry thoughts. It still didn't change the fact that he _knew_ and didn't give him any sort of warning.

Sighing, he looked down the hall and wondered if he had to visit each and every one, or if he could just pick and choose. He didn't think he was up for whatever sort of emotional toil came with viewing each one, and would have preferred not having to do this. But he couldn't get the thoughts out of his head, the ones that told him that the answers he was looking for were here just waiting for him.

"Onward I guess," he said, relieved when he saw a sliver of a smile from Eames. In all honesty he hadn't meant for him to feel bad. He just hated walking into potential traps, and that hatred seeped into whatever it was they were doing. Hopefully it wasn't something that would happen again, as he now had the knowledge that just about anything could be behind the doors.

Walking further down the hall, he spotted a door with the number sixteen on it, and was immediately drawn to it. Arthur couldn't quite explain why, just that he felt the need to see what was behind it. When he reached out for the knob, again he felt the hesitation and uncertainty bubble up. What if it was another dream? A personal memory from the time he worked with someone else? The last thing he wanted was to intrude on something like that, but touching the metal knob he had a feeling he wasn't going to be walking into a personal dream, and decided to just go with what he felt.

"This is Prague, isn't it?" He asked, shivering at the immediate drop of temperatures. The memories of this particular job were vague at best, only that it was another corporate extraction that required they work with a forger. It had seemed to go smoothly, but then they'd been spotted by their mark's security when they brought the man back to his residence, and all hell broke loose. The two men that ran by them with guns proof of what had happened inside the building.

"We were running towards the station, hoping to blend in with some of the tourists," he said as the memories washed over him, "except we didn't quite make it, and you shoved me up against a wall and kissed me like our lives depended on it."

It wasn't something Arthur wanted to admit, remembering that at the time it had been out of necessity and nothing else. Later on he wondered if maybe the other man had meant it, as they'd both seemed to just melt into the others embrace. It was only when he asked about it did he find out that it hadn't meant anything to Eames, that it had been nothing more than a distraction. Again, he remembered the pain he felt at hearing that it meant nothing, and he came to the realisation that he may have felt just a bit more than like for the forger. Especially after their kiss. But hearing that it meant nothing he buried it all and never thought about it again.

As he stepped back into the hallway, Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to continue. Had he known it was going to be nothing but pain he wouldn't have returned. He could get plenty of that from thinking about the arguments he and Eames had had in the apartment before they went their separate ways. He also didn't _need_ or _want_ any of this. His life beforehand had been fine, good even. It didn't need to be changed. Especially if that change involved pain. Now, though, it was too late, and while he could leave if he wanted to, he didn't. He couldn't. Not when he felt like the answers really were right here waiting for him.

"Are they all like that? Reminders of all the pain I've suffered?"

He couldn't understand why he would hide them all away. They weren't anything special, weren't anything anyone could use against him should they try. Maybe that was the point. Maybe the old him had locked them away because he thought they could be used against him. If that was the case, Arthur knew he didn't need to see any more. He'd seen more than enough. But if they weren't? Damn his curiosity.

"Not all of them."

The projection's words caught his attention, and turning to see just what he was looking at found himself staring at two doors side by side at the end of the hallway. He had no idea why they were there, or what was behind him. Just that he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't describe it other than the feeling of wanting to run as far away as possible. The other doors hadn't made him feel as afraid as the other two were currently making him feel. Maybe it was as good a time as ever for him to leave, to digest everything he'd seen. Then again, one more couldn't hurt…

"I guess we'll find out," he said, looking towards a door that had the number fourteen thirty. It seemed like a strange number, something one would find in a hotel. And if that ended up being the case, he was convinced that it couldn't be a reminder of all the pain he'd suffered. The first memory had been a hotel room, and it hadn't been all _that_ painful. Surely this one would be similar.

The moment he stepped through the door, though, he was wondering if maybe his instincts had been wrong. The room was lit by the rising sun, and in the bed was someone asleep, the sheets pooled at their waist. Had he not known any better, Arthur would have assumed it was just some strange man. But the dark ink that trailed down the portion of the arm that was visible was a clear sign he was looking at Eames. Had he once again walked into some sort of personal memory? Or had this actually happened?

"This was after the Fischer job," he confessed, stepping further into the room, "everyone had gone their separate ways and somehow we ended up in the same hotel bar. And the same room, it seems."

Again he felt the blush creep up his neck, and turning to face the projection, found a rather odd _smirk_ gracing the man's face. Of course he'd known about this particular memory; just like he'd known about all the others. Though unlike the others, he seemed to be taking pleasure in this particular one. Which meant something must have happened.

"That good, huh?"

"Of course," came the projection's reply, and Arthur found himself laughing. It felt odd to hear such a sound come from himself, and the warmth that seemed to bloom through his chest felt even stranger.

Looking back towards the bed he remembered this particular memory. More than just the sex. It wasn't the first time they'd fallen into bed together. It was the last as Arthur had told himself he was going to slowly extract himself from the criminal world they lived in. He just wanted something to remember the man he'd fallen in love with before he basically left them all behind. The pain he felt wasn't like the others. It was more of a longing than heartbreak, and he was reminded of the loneliness that he felt topside.

"I – I think I should go," he said, sighing, "timer is probably almost done – "

In reality, he didn't want to deal with all the feelings that were suddenly coming to the surface. He felt the hurt, the longing, the loneliness, and it made him want things that he knew weren't possible. There was also the pair of doors at the end of the hallway that he had a feeling he would eventually have to deal with. Just not today. Not yet.

"I need to sort all of this out."

"Arthur – "

"Please Eames. I can't – not now at least."

He couldn't even bear to look at the projection, knowing he would see all his own feelings mirrored back to him. Instead he just imagined his trusty Glock and shot himself out of the dream. Arthur knew it was going to be a long while before he ever went down. Too many things were going on inside of his head, and until he could figure them out he wasn't about to add to them. Even if it meant easing the loneliness he felt each night he went to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Eames _hated_ New Zealand. Not the sort of hate that people could tolerate, but the type that had him wanting to leave the instant his feet touched the ground. It was almost as much as he hated London. Which spoke volumes considering he would be taking a job there once he was finished with his current one. New Zealand had more of a small town feel than any of the other countries he'd visited. Or that might have been the fact he was in Christchurch instead of Auckland. After having spent the previous three weeks back in Berlin planning their next step, he was just relieved to have finally gotten close enough to Lucas to finish their game of cat and mouse.

Word was the man had rented a house in one of the suburbs, a place surrounded by homes occupied by other families. Not the best place in the world to conduct a kidnapping but it would technically work. Especially as he was no longer working alone. Any other time and Eames would have handled this on his own. But with the number of times Lucas had given them the slips, he hadn't turned down his colleagues offer to help make certain the man didn't leave the country alive. He'd already decided that for what he'd done to not only his life but Arthur's as well, the man was going to die the slowest possible way – stuck in limbo with no way out. The somnacin variant he'd had Yusuf ship him from Mombasa would take care of that for him.

In the mean time, he had to figure out the best way to pull off his plan _without_ spooking his target. Somehow the man was just on the near side of paranoid to know when he was being followed. The few times he'd watched him in the neighbourhood had given him the impression he was more on edge now than when he'd been in Madrid. Which was going to make grabbing him all the more difficult. Eames was certain, however, that they could pull it off. Forging took just a little bit of creativity, and having tried and failed twice before to grab the man, he knew this time around would take exactly that – creativity.

Sitting in a small cafe near the flat he was renting, he read over the initial plan they'd sketched out, wishing that Arthur was there to help him find any holes or flaws. The point man had always been the better of the two of them when it came to drawing up plans. Now Eames was stuck looking for them on his own, chastising the fact he'd even thought about the man back in Seattle. In the past five months that he'd been abroad he'd rarely thought about the man he'd given up dream crime for. It had been difficult at first, but now the man never crossed his mind. Not at least until that moment, and the ache in his chest proof of why he'd forced himself to forget.

"Alright, given our mark's paranoid tendencies, I don't think we'll be able to just pick him off the street," he explain to the other man with him. Eames knew there was no way they'd be able to just grab him without drawing some sort of attention from either the locals or the authorities. Which meant they would either have to break into his house while the man was asleep, or figure out a way to lure him to a place where they could grab him without drawing unwanted attention. He had a feeling the second option wouldn't be feasible, which left them –

"So I'm thinking we might have to break into his house," he confirmed, sighing. These sorts of things were never his strong points. Forging, both inside and outside of a dream, were things he could handle. Even the occasional theft from an art museum he could do. But breaking and entering? That was so far below him that he hadn't even contemplated it. Eames had participated in the occasional b and e as a teenager, but once he found his knack with forging he'd left it all behind. That sort of knowledge might have actually come in handy considering the plan they'd just put together.

The next few days were spent learning as much about their mark's routine, the neighbourhood, and any potential security situations that might arise in regards to the residence. Eames wasn't about to attempt breaking into someone's home without knowing whether or not they had any sort of security. And know what he did about Lucas, he wouldn't be surprised if the man had more security than the average military base. All the reason for them to know _exactly_ what they were getting themselves into.

On the table in front of him was the plan they'd finally put together after days of gathering intel. Eames knew it backwards and forwards, and knew that the revenge he'd been itching for was finally within his grasp. Again. Unlike the other times he _knew_ they wouldn't fail. Lucas tended to go out only once or twice a day, and at night he went to bed early, and slept through most of the night. He had no idea if the man would wake up once they finally entered the home, or if he had some sort of trap set up for any intruder, but it was a risk he was willing to take. A risk they _needed_ to take so he could once and for all move forward with his life.

"Time to go," he told the group, making certain the plans they'd drawn up were burned. It wouldn't do anyone any good to finally put an end to the former extractor to only end up being caught by the authorities because of something as stupid as having left behind the plans. Eames also knew that Arthur, had he actually known about all of it, would have had his arse for being stupid enough to forget to burn the evidence. They hadn't survived as long as they had in the business without being careful. And he wasn't about to start being sloppy now. Not when the finish line was finally in sight.

Sitting in the back of the van, allowing one of the others to drive, he found himself mentally going over exactly what they'd planned out. Eames was also going over in his head exactly what he planned on doing once he got Lucas into the dream. He'd spent countless days, weeks even, planning out exactly what he'd do once he finally got his hands on the extractor. Now that it was about to happen all that he could think about was Arthur, and what he would think. This was all for him, and while they'd gone their separate ways he couldn't help but wonder what was going on with the former point man. In all honesty he missed Arthur. But what was done was done, and now it was time to finish what he started, and return to Seattle to pack up what was left of his life and move on.

"We're here," came the voice from the front of the van, and dragging his thoughts back to the present, made certain he had everything he would need. The others he'd recruited to help would make certain the power to the house was cut, that the security systems the extractor had in place wouldn't alert the authorities, and take care of any other obstacles that they may have to deal with. They would also sedate Lucas so he wouldn't fight them before it was time. What Eames didn't tell them was the real reason for the sedation.

With the somnacin he'd requested from Yusuf, the extra sedation would make certain that the extractor would drop into limbo with his death. He hadn't originally planned to kill the extractor. At least not in the beginning. But the longer he thought about it, the more he wanted Lucas to pay the ultimate price for what he'd done. There would be no justice, no nothing. Just a shell lingering between life and death. Exactly what he'd put himself and Arthur through. Poetic justice if he actually sat and thought about it.

After a few moments the signal was given, and Eames knew it was time for him to do what he'd come to New Zealand to do. He hadn't thought their game of cat and mouse would finally end, figured it would take far more country hopping before it did. But as he walked into the house, seeing the remnants of a life that the man didn't even deserve to live, he took comfort in knowing that tonight would be the man's last night alive. After that they would all go their separate ways, and he would return to Seattle to pack up what was left of his life and move forward. Alone. And never again would he make the fatal mistake of falling for someone in their line of work. Arthur had taught him that lesson quite well.

As he stepped into the bedroom and set the PASIV down between the bed and the chair that had been dragged into the room, he found himself surprised at how little signs of struggle there was in the room. He had figured Lucas would have put up more of a fight, maybe bruise up some of the men before they finally tranquillized him. Seeing him on the bed, looking almost _peaceful_ just seemed like everything was going too easy, had him wondering if maybe they had walked into some sort of trap. All their intel said they hadn't, but he hadn't gotten as far in life as he had without being cautious.

Setting up the PASIV and inserting the cannula into Lucas' wrist, he sent all but two of the men off to make certain no one interfered with their night's activity. Again their intel didn't mention anything about an outside security system, but one could never be too careful. He also didn't plan on allowing their mark to wake up from the dream, so he didn't need to have everyone around in the room. Once it was cleared, he settled into the chair, unravelled the tubing from the device, and inserted the cannula into his own wrist. The end was in sight, he mused as he pushed the button and felt the burn of the chemicals as they entered his body.

Upon opening his eyes, Eames found himself in the room he'd imagined as he slipped into sleep – windowless, soundproof, and only one exit. In the centre was Lucas, tied to a chair with a small table in front of him. Everything was exactly how he'd wanted it; even down to tools sitting out, waiting for someone to pick them up and use them. This sort of thing normally wasn't something he would do. But then again he'd been pushed and pulled and his old life wasn't something he could embrace any more. This was his new life, and Lucas would pay one way or another. If only because Arthur would have wanted it.

"I don't know what you expect to get out of me," the other man finally said, "got nothing left to lose, so this? It is all _pointless_."

_Nothing_ was ever pointless, in his opinion and storming over to where Lucas was tied up, proceeded to back-hand him across the face. It felt good to let out some of the pent-up frustrations that came with having tracked the man down for months on end. There was still plenty of it left, but just allowing part of it out would make the rest of their time together go a little easier. At least that was what he assumed. Knowing Lucas he would probably be just as frustrating and he would probably just end up shooting him instead of getting the information he'd been hoping for.

" _Nothing_ left to lose?" He asked as a smirk quickly formed, "there's always something left to lose. It's just a matter of actually finding it."

"The _only_ thing that mattered to me is gone," came the other man's reply, "just like yours is, Eames. You can do whatever you want to me but it won't get Arthur back."

Before he could even think twice, his fist flew out and connected with Lucas, instantly breaking his nose. He'd never allowed his anger to get the better of him. Never like that, at least. But one mention of Arthur, of how much he really did matter to him, and everything within him just snapped. And hearing the other man just laugh made it even worse. The ire, the hurt – it all bubbled up, and the only thing Eames could think of was exacting his revenge in a physical sense. He could beat the shit out of the man, and it still wouldn't matter as they were in a bloody dream.

"Do want you want to me, it won't matter," the other man said through the sick laughter, "nothing matters any more."

"Why Arthur," he demanded, wondering if the man would actually tell him, "why _Arthur_ , of all people. He wasn't even on the bloody job! I was."

"He made you happy," was his explanation, and once again Eames felt the ire within him grow, "I saw you two together, decided – "

"She _died_ because of _your_ incompetence," Eames seethed, "taking it out on Arthur was pointless. What good did it do?"

He remembered the job, and how their mark had realized he was dreaming, had shot himself out of the dream, and was moments from turning a gun on their team with Lucas' wife had stepped in and created a diversion. In the end she'd taken the bullet that was probably meant for Lucas, and had given the team enough time to take the mark down before making their escape. It was the only thing they could do, and while he'd felt for the former extractor, the fact they'd all made it out alive spoke more than any sort of revenge. Clearly the other man didn't agree.

"More than you could imagine. Though it was such a shame that Arthur hadn't died," he said, still smirking like he'd won, "though amnesia isn't a bad consolation prize. Seattle weather can be quite finicky in the summer. Just a bit more rain – "

Eames had had enough. He'd thought that revenge would have made him feel better. Instead it just made the feeling of loss even worse. Arthur was never going to be his again, and seeing the self-confident smirk plastered on Lucas' face only served to remind him of that. It was time to go, time to return to his old home and pack up the remnants of his life and move on. Saito would help him secure a new job and quite possibly help in finding him a new place to live, and until that time he could spend the time catching up with Yusuf and see what Mombasa had to offer in the time he'd been away.

And with that in mind, he decided it was time to go, to give up the idea of revenge and move on with life. For a brief moment Eames had thought about forging Lucas' wife, kill him the way he'd allowed her to die. But why stoop to that? Arthur would have chastised him for doing such a thing, and while he may never have the man again he could at least allow him to be the voice of reason one last time.

"And here I thought you were a smart man, Eames. Shooting me will just wake me up."

"Not unless you're heavily sedated," he explained as he toyed with the gun in his hand, "I shoot you now, you'll drop into limbo, and when they find your body they will find you're in nothing more than a vegetative state. Unless I decide to put an end to your body up top."

Which he wouldn't. He would leave Lucas in the coma-like state, and force him to suffer for the rest of his life. As the music that signalled the end of the dream neared, he pulled the trigger and shot Lucas right between the eyes, watching as his body crumpled onto the ground. As he woke up, he expected to feel relief, or even some sort of peace. But as his body slowly started to remember it was in the real world the only thing he felt was the same empty hole where his heart should have been. It was time to leave, return to Seattle, and move on with his life. Alone. Like it had been before he'd met Arthur.

* * * * *

Ariadne had told him that as the end of term inched closer she would probably be spending more and more time at school working on final projects, and the likes. And true to her word, she'd left early that morning leaving a note saying she would be back either later that night or quite possibly the next morning. Arthur would have chided her for working too hard but then he understood what it was like to have that drive to succeed. He wouldn't have gotten to where he was had he not worked extremely hard. He probably wouldn't have had the prices on his head either, but that was neither here nor there. His work ethic had gotten him to where he was, and it would continue to keep him there. If only the same ethic could be applied to his memories.

In the weeks since he'd last gone down, he found his memories hadn't fully returned. Bits and pieces has, but for the most part there were still large gaps in his head. He'd even started going out more, trying to see if anything would actually trigger the rest of them to return only to find that it didn't work. The only time he'd inadvertently triggered a memory had been the one time he and Eames had walked through Pike's Market. It had been only an instant, but it had been enough to send him fleeing to the safety of their flat. Maybe another trip to the market was in order. It couldn't hurt, right? If it triggered one memory it could quite possibly trigger another. And that was all it took. Just one, and the rest could come flooding back. Or they might not. But he couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

And then there were the doors, the ones in the café from his dreamscape. His gut was still trying to tell him that they were important, they he needed to see what was on the other side of them. Arthur couldn't though. He knew he wasn't strong enough to handle the emotions and the information hidden behind them. Even with the projection of Eames he felt like he wouldn't ever be ready to walk through the doors. He may never be ready, and even though weeks had passed since his time down, he felt like he could just live his life the way it was with the large gaps and inability to completely grasp why his life still felt oddly empty.

As he stood by the back wall of windows, drinking his morning coffee and staring out at the Cascades, he found himself thinking back on his last trip down to the café. Each and every door he'd wandered into had something personal to do with himself and Eames, and each one had brought with it a new set of emotions that he hadn't been prepared to deal with. In the weeks that followed he'd finally found himself accepting that he and the forger had had some sort of relationship, something more than a working relationship. It explained some of the feelings of emptiness, of why his felt like there was something missing, something he couldn't put a finger on. It also explained the look of absolute heartbreak he remembered seeing on the forger's face the last time they'd talked in their apartment.

What he couldn't figure out were the doors at the far end of the hallway. From what he could remember of the dream, the only time he dared look at them he felt an overwhelming feeling of dread and fear wash over him. There was also the desire to put as much distance between himself and the doors as possible. But why? Arthur knew that the doors had nothing to do with whatever relationship he had with Eames. No, those doors were even more personal, something that could quite possibly destroy him. But what? He'd never been the curious sort, other than when it came to researching a mark. But the doors, the sound of rain and sirens and muffled voices had him curious. Even though it would mean returning to the café, to the projection of Eames, to the feelings he'd finally come to some sort of agreement with.

Arthur had spent most of the morning, and into the early afternoon debating with himself the pros and cons of returning to the dream. In the end, he decided the benefits outweighed any sort of risks. If there was any sort of chance that confronting whatever was behind the doors would unlock the rest of his memories, he'd decided he would do it. As long as the projection of Eames was there. He couldn't explain why but having him there, even if it was just a projection and not the real thing, made facing things easier. It had him wondering if that was how things had been in real life, if he felt like he could face almost anything as long as that man was at his side, or if it was something new, something that came from having to deal with the feelings where they hadn't been any before.

Whatever it was, it was something he needed to face once and for all instead of hiding behind his fears. He'd never been one to hide from them before, and something told him he hadn't been one to hide from them in his old life either. Which meant he was going back down into the dream and accepting whatever the doors offered him. Even if it meant dealing with the pain and emotions that came with them. And who knew – he might actually come out of it with his old life still in tact, something he could mix with the experiences from this particular one. But if he didn't? At least he would know once and for all what all was hidden down there and could deal with it in only the way he could. He would also be able to move forward with his life and return, hopefully, to dream crime.

After leaving Ariadne a note, telling her that he would be in his room and that he wasn't to be disturbed no matter what, he locked himself in, dragged out the PASIV, and set the timer. Arthur knew that he would need far longer than his usual ten minutes. Whatever was behind the doors had to be immensely personal, and dealing with that would need more than an hour in dream time. He probably could have spent days, months even dealing with it. And if he felt like he could do that without losing himself he would. But then he remembered what had happened to Mal, and how they'd told him that she had lost herself to the dream. It wasn't something he would ever allow to happen, and setting the timer so that he would be spending a day down in the dream, he unwound the tubing, and inserted the cannula into his wrist before laying down on the floor, and pushing the button that would force the chemicals into his body.

When he opened his eyes again, the dreamscape was the same café setting. Everything seemed to be the same, with only some slight difference like the façades of the shops, the street seemed to be different, and things seemed a bit – sharper. And then there were the nerves. Every other time he'd been down in the dream he felt normal, apprehensive even. This feeling was different from that. It was like the first time he'd been in a dream outside of the military, when Mal had taken him under. Arthur couldn't quite figure out why the knots in his stomach were forming so quickly when they hadn't been there the last time.

There were voices, too. Not the projections. Familiar voices, ones he hadn't heard in a very long time, ones that weren't connected to his criminal life. Were they coming from the café, or was there something else going on inside of his head? Arthur was starting to think coming back down had been a bad idea. His head was starting to hurt again, the knots in his stomach were growing worse, and dark clouds had started to settle over his dreamscape. All in all it wasn't the sort of positive signs he was looking for. If anything, they were reminders that he should just get out while he still could, while he could move on with his life. He wasn't going to –

"Arthur," the projection spoke, snapping him from his thoughts, "I was wondering if you were ever going to come back."

"Told you before I had to – "

"And have you?"

"I think so," Arthur replied with a small smile, knowing that it was somewhat pointless to blush when the projection was just a part of his own subconscious. There wasn't anything he could hide from himself. Or at least nothing he could consciously hide from himself. The café was proof enough that he could actually hide things from himself unconsciously.

"Good. That means we can finish what we started – "

"I – I'm not so sure about that," he told the other man as he glanced towards the building, "I don't even know if I'm ready – "

"You wouldn't have returned if you didn't think you were ready, Arthur."

Damn the projection for actually being right. He could put it off for as long as he wanted, but he knew deep down he wouldn't have returned to the dream unless he was more than ready to face the last of the doors, and whatever it was behind them. Nerves or not, this was probably going to be his only chance before life would sweep him up and he returned to his life as a criminal.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he sighed. "No time like the present I guess."

"There's the spirit. And of course I'm right. Or did we forget I'm part of you, and somewhere in that head of yours you know what you need to do," Eames teased.

"You're almost as cocky as the real thing," he added, shaking his head and walking towards the building, "or maybe that was the point."

When the projection had no answer, he put it down to finally finding a way to actually shut him up. Turning around, though, he found Eames had disappeared. Had he somehow angered the projection with his words? Was it even possible? Arthur remembered the shade of Mal and how violent she'd been, but Eames wasn't a shade, he was nothing more than a projection he'd set-up to watch over certain memories. So how was it possible for him to anger something that was a part of his own subconscious? Unless he'd inadvertently angered himself?

The theories behind dreams and their projections had never been his strong point, and just thinking about it had his head hurting. He wasn't there to get into some sort of fight with his subconscious, he was there to face what was left of his locked away memories. Arthur knew it wasn't going to be easy, knew it would have been better with the projection at his side, but if help meant dealing with Eames and all his eccentricities, he would just go about doing things on his own. It was better this way, he told himself as he forced one foot in front of the other, slowly making his way to the café. The eerily silence that settled over this part of his dreamscape wasn't something he was used to, preferring the noise. But then this was the deepest part of subconscious, and having it full of projections and noise would probably be odd. He would have also preferred Eames, but something told him that wasn't about to happen.

Entering the cafe, Arthur found himself pausing at a row of tables. The hallway was straight ahead but he found it impossible to get his feet to actually move towards it. He knew there wasn't anything physically keeping him from moving forward, as he'd checked to see. Which meant it was yet another mental block, another something that he should have probably heeded. Leaving wasn't an option, though, and pushing past it, reminding himself he was there for a reason and _nothing_ was going to stop him, he found himself able to move forward and he walked down the hallway. Each door he passed he could hear the muffled sounds behind it, a reminder of what he'd already seen. Even the doors he hadn't walked through he could hear the muffled sounds and for a moment thought about actually entering them. Anything other than the two doors at the end of the hall.

But then the voices started to change. They weren't the muffled ones from the doors. They were louder, more clear, and there were the sirens. Arthur knew they were coming from the doors in front of him, the ones he was avoiding. Pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he again told himself to move, and found his feet more than willing to comply. With each step, he knew he was getting closer and closer as the sounds were getting louder and louder. But could he actually open the doors? Only one way to find out, he told himself, reaching out and grabbing the knob. The electricity that hit his hand had him jumping back. Though he refused to let it get the better of him.

Opening up the door, and stepping through, Arthur came face to face with something he'd buried. He was standing out in the rain as paramedics and the police were rushing around the scene calling out to see if anyone was alive. Beyond the glaring lights he saw the car wrapped around the tree, mangled to the point he didn't think anyone could have been alive. And the rain. It was cold, and coming down in a mist instead of in sheets like he would have assumed. The night was one he'd forgotten, one he'd locked up to never think about again. He could feel the sharp pain in his chest at having to remember that night, could feel himself backing up, not wanting to deal with it. He'd been a kid, it had been an accident, and the stretch of road everyone knew was dangerous.

"No," he whispered over and over again as he backed up, hoping to find the door he'd walked through. Arthur couldn't watch the scene play out, couldn't watch them drag his twin sister's corpse from the car and cut him out of the driver's side. He couldn't watch it knowing that it had been his fault, that he was the one responsible for her death, and how it should have been him instead. A part of him knew that this scene was behind one of the doors, and then the other being when his parents had met that same fate. It was why he put it off for so long. Now? Now he wished he hadn't opened the door, hadn't made the choice to return to the dreamscape.

"Arthur."

"They're dead because of me," he confessed as he turned into the projection, "m'parents, m'sister. Dead."

"Oh Arthur, I seriously doubt that. This looks like some sort of – "

"We were at a party with some friends," he explained, refusing to move from the projection's embrace, "she always preferred to drink more than I did, and the road out to Monroe – it's horrible. Everyone knows that. But I had a couple beers, and she had more than me and I said I would drive, and we were fine. We were fine. Until the headlights and I don't remember anything until waking up in the hospital two days later."

Arthur remembered that day clearly, the look on his parents faces as they told him his sister had been killed in the accident. He couldn't help but blame himself, and watch as they blamed him even though they'd told him it was an accident and that they didn't blame him. They were lying. It was what he'd convinced himself of each and every day. He could see the hurt in their eyes, how they saw him as the failure while his sister had been their pride and joy. The downfall of being the older of the two of them. They'd placed so much responsibility onto his shoulders, and he had been fine with it. Until that fateful day.

"It was my fault. If she hadn't died, then they wouldn't have hated me, and then they wouldn't have – "

"You don't believe that. It was an _accident._ No one's to blame."

"I am," he whispered, before giving the scene one last look, "I think – I think it's time for me to go."

"You don't want to see what's – "

"No, I know what's behind there," he told him, giving the projection one last look as if memorizing something he wasn't going to be seeing again, "kinda remember it all now. I do blame myself for what happened to my sister, but not for my parents. Guess – guess I just needed to face it one last time since a similar accident put me in this situation in the first place."

Arthur knew he had so many things he had to reconcile once he left the dream. He had to find Eames, and apologize for the way he treated him, the way he doubted him, and had gone behind his back even though they'd made a promise to never use the PASIV again. And he wanted to apologize for driving him away. If it wasn't too late. Yet another thing he would have to dig up once he left the dream. At least he could take comfort in knowing that he'd chosen the right person to watch over the memories that could have brought him and Eames down had they still been criminals.

"Thanks, I guess," he told the projection once they'd left the crime scene, "hopefully I get to say that to you in person."

Imagining up his Glock, he shot himself out of the dream, waking up to the feeling of something wet on his face. As he reached up to figure out what had happened, his ears focused on the sounds of laughter coming from outside his room. Arthur hadn't been out all that long, and Ariadne did say she was going to be working late. But maybe something had come up? It didn't sound like intruders, which meant he could actually take his time, and sort himself out. He'd never allowed himself to cry before, and waking up to finding he had was just a bit embarrassing. And if Ariadne had visitors, he didn't want to interrupt whatever they were doing looking like he'd just broken down.

He pushed himself up and off of the floor, and padded towards the small attached bath. There was no way he was going out into the room until he had an idea of what he looked like, and flipping on the light found he looked about as normal as ever. Though Arthur was thrown by the fact he was wearing an old t-shirt that belonged to Eames as well as an older pair of jeans. The jeans he got as he'd started to go back to them the instant he returned to Seattle. But the shirt? Was it yet another subconscious thing? Or was it done on purpose? And did it really matter? No, he was just grateful to have something that reminded him of the forger. Though he would need to get some sort of hair cut but first he needed to figure out who all was in the house.

As he left the room, his ears picked up the familiarity of voices he hadn't heard in months. Arthur remembered Cobb having moved north for the school system, and to be nearby should anything happen. But Yusuf? Why would their former chemist even be in town? Unless they were planning on ambushing him. Again. It wouldn't be the first time, and he mentally prepared himself as he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Hey Ariadne, guess you weren't working all that late after all," he said as his eyes met with each one, "Dom shouldn't you be with the kids or something, and Yusuf what the hell are you doing here? Figured you would have stayed in Mombasa."

They each stared at him like he'd said something wrong, or had said something that they hadn't expected. Oh, right. Arthur had forgotten he'd kept the fact he'd been slowly getting some of his memories back after his visits with the projection he'd created of Eames from them. He hadn't wanted to give them some sort of hope, or a false sense of security. But now he was thinking he might have at least given them a heads up. Though their looks were something he was certain he wouldn't forget. At least not for a bit.

"Yes, it's me. The old me, and has anyone heard anything from Eames?"

Again it was their looks that spoke volumes. He knew if they had they would have said something. Seeing as they hadn't, he would need to dig into the other man's aliases and tap into their flats security system. If he knew Eames like he thought he did, the forger wouldn't spend long in the city before running again. And he wanted to catch him before he ran.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little sad to see this coming to an end, but I hope this journey was as fun for y'all as it was for me. I also want to thank [aya-chibis](http://aya-chibis.tumblr.com/) for the wonderful fanart that I've added to the end of the story.

In and out. That had been the plan once he'd finally arrived in Seattle. Eames had no intention of staying longer than it took to pack up the remnants of his life, and set it up to have them shipped to some storage facility in London. He'd been lucky that Saito had understood his situation, and had offered to transfer him to England so he could work with the corporations in militarising their executives. It wouldn't be quite as exciting as working with the forgeries, but at least it would get him out of the city, and as far away from Arthur as possible. And it was something he needed. Even if he couldn't have the former point man, he could at least do him one last favour and put distance between them.

The whole trip back from New Zealand had been spent hoping that he could just avoid returning to the flat, knowing that eventually he would run into Arthur as it had been in both of their names. He'd gotten his revenge, and while it hadn't felt as good as he thought it would he could live the rest of his life without feeling any sort of guilt. The only regret he had was wishing Arthur could have been there. He at least deserved to see the man who'd ruined their lives, and forced them to live through the hell. But the man couldn't even remember who he was, let alone remember the man who had caused their accident. One day he would tell Arthur that the man who'd caused their accident was dead, and then cut off all contact. It was for the best for both of them.

Until he could do that, though, he would work on packing up their apartment. He'd already spent most of the previous day sorting out his stuff from Arthur's, and now he would just need to put them into boxes before contacting Saito to have them shipped over to London. Eames had asked for some time off before joining the company in England, and again his boss had been more than accommodating. He'd planned on spending some time with Yusuf in Mombasa, immersing himself back into the criminal life he'd all but given up when he'd moved in with Arthur. It would give him something to do, and keep his mind off the heartache that was slowly starting to dissipate. He knew it wouldn't ever go away completely, but in time he would at least be able to think of the man without the pain that seemed to come with it.

He had just finished packing away the few books that he'd picked up along the way and had contemplated taking a break when there came a knock to the door. None of their neighbours were home, and Eames wasn't expecting anyone. His instincts told him to grab the gun he had hidden nearby, and carefully open the door. Instead he yelled, "door's open," and went back to working on the box. Whomever it was was welcome to either shoot him, or talk to him. Just as long as he didn't expect him to stop what he was doing.

Arthur hadn't expected Eames to actually answer the door, figured he would just ignore him in the hopes that he would eventually leave. He hadn't expected the man to call out that the door was open, like he just expected the visitor to enter. Any other time and he might have been concerned. But he knew that Eames was at home thanks to his hack into their security system. He also knew all of their neighbours were gone; which meant that it was just the two of them in the building.

"Hello," he called out as he cautiously entered the flat, "Eames? Are you – "

"Something you wanted Arthur," Eames asked, watching him from their living room. He had hoped not to have to see the other man, knowing that it would only cause more pain. But given the fact that this was both their places it was something he knew was a distinct possibility. Especially as the other man was good at finding people, and knowing where they were at any point in the day.

"You're leaving?" Arthur inquired, having spotted the boxes scattered throughout the room.

"Very astute of you."

The sarcasm in his voice hurt. More than Arthur had been expecting. It hadn't been that long since he'd tracked the forger to New Zealand, and then followed the progress as he hopped from continent to continent before arriving in Seattle. He also watched as yet another one of his aliases checked into a hotel, and after that it was just a matter of time before he knew the man would show up at their flat. But to see the boxes, to see him packing up what had been their life together – well it actually hurt.

"I – I guess I'll just leave you to it," he stated as he started to make his retreat. Arthur knew when he wasn't wanted, and the last thing he needed to do was cause the man any more pain. Maybe it had been a bad idea to make some sort of apology.

"Arthur," Eames sighed. "You came here for a reason. What was it?"

He'd noticed when Arthur had entered that it wasn't the same man that he'd been when they went their separate ways almost seven months earlier. The one standing in front of him was reminiscent of the man he'd seen when he first arrived in the city, the boy in the t-shirt and jeans. But he wasn't about to hope that somehow he'd regained him memories in the time he'd been gone. Eames was many things but he wasn't someone to cling onto a sliver of hope. Not when there wasn't one. Whatever Arthur wanted he just wanted him to spit it out, and then leave him be to wallow in his misery. Seeing him standing there was only making the situation worse.

"Heard what you did in New Zealand," Arthur offered up, not even knowing where to start, "wish I could have been there. But then I am assuming you made certain he won't ever hurt anyone again."

The day after he'd regained his memories, the images from the traffic cams were the first thing he went after in his desire to find out who had pushed them out into traffic. Arthur knew who it was the instant he saw the man, and had went to tracking him down. In the process he found the trail Eames had left behind, and had worked on cleaning it up so no one would track it back to the former forger. He figured it was the least he could do after everything he'd put them through. Though he was certain had their roles been reversed the forger would have done the same thing for him. It was just how they were together.

Hearing the sigh, Arthur knew his stalling tactics were starting to wear thin. What was he supposed to say? How could he apologize and mean it and tell Eames that he remembered everything, and that he was more than sorry? He'd tried to talk it out with Ariadne and each and every time it came out sounding worse than he'd intended to. Now he was having to do it for real, and everything that he wanted to say sounded like it wouldn't be enough, that it would fall painfully short, and they would end up walking way more hurt than they'd been before he decided to just show up. Again he felt like coming to the flat had been the worst idea possible.

"I came to say – I'm sorry? That I read your letter and I could see how much emotion you put into it, and it made me feel horribly guilt for the way I treated you even though I wasn't technically me," he sputtered out, wishing he would have just turned and left instead of spewing out his heart, "and I don't blame you one bit for leaving. I would, too, if I'd been in your shoes."

As he listened to Arthur's apology, Eames could feel the hope he'd refused to hold onto grow. Why else would the point man say everything he'd said if he didn't have at least some of his memories? And seeing him just spew it out like he had, like some sort of nervous teenager had the hope within him grow even more. His Arthur, the one thing he had never expected to see again, had finally returned and all he could do was stand there and watch him. The totem was locked away somewhere, and had it not been he was quite certain it would have been pulled out in an instant. Instead he did the next best thing. He covered the distance between them and looked into his eyes – the one thing he knew would always be truthful.

"It really is you, Arthur? He asked, cupping the other man's head between his hands as he searched his eyes for any sort of a lie. "You really do remember it all?"

Watching Eames stare into his eyes, Arthur knew he was looking for anything that would give away the fact that he wasn't telling the complete truth. He couldn't blame the man considering everything that had happened. But having him so close, being able to smell the subtle scent that had always been something he associated with the forger had his heart aching all over again. He just wanted this whole ordeal over, wanted to finally be able to work on healing the pain they'd both caused the other. They just needed to be certain that what was happening was reality, and that he hadn't found some way to get past Eames' natural lie detection.

"Not only do I remember it all," he told him, smiling like he hadn't in a long time, "there was a certain question that I never got around to answering. Unless you'd just like me to leave, because if not it is yes."

"Yes?" Eames asked, uncertain just what question he was answering. "Yes?" Again he questioned the other man until it finally dawned on him. Right before their accident he had proposed to Arthur, and in the chaos that had been their life afterwards he'd all but forgotten it. Now, though, it was at the forefront of his mind, and upon hearing the answer he'd hoped for kissed the man. It wasn't rushed, or messy or anything that they might have expected. It was slow, full of love, and longing, and said everything he couldn't say.

"I love you, too," Arthur whispered, once they'd stopped. "So, about all of this," he added, motioning to the boxes. "Are you still leaving?"

"About that," Eames told him rather sheepishly, "Saito has a job for me in London. What with everything that happened figured it would be for the best."

At the time he honestly thought it would have been for the best. With their circumstances having changed, it felt like the worst thing possible. But Eames wasn't going to tell Saito about their change of plans. He would still keep his promise to help out in militarising corporate execs. It was also possible that he could have Arthur help out, considering the point man had one of the best sub-security in the business. What better person to help train a mind than someone who had one that was almost unbreakable? He would just have to float the idea. Once they figured out where they would be going from there.

"No, no I get it. Really I do," he said, sighing. London. They'd just found each other again and now they were going to separate for who knew how long. Arthur knew his life would be in Seattle, and just picking up and moving would be more difficult than just staying put. But he wouldn't ask Eames to stay. Not when he had a new job lined up already. It wasn't fair to either one of them.

"You can come with me, you know," Eames offered, seeing his once joyful face turn downward. He had assumed Arthur would be coming with him, and not staying put. But somehow the other man had assumed just the opposite. Some days he did have to wonder how the former point man had become one of the best in the business. "I would actually prefer it, since having to travel between there and here would be murder."

"Seriously? You just want me to pack up my life and come with you," Arthur asked somewhere between thrilled with the possibility, and scared that the man was just joking around with him like he always did. But if Eames was serious he would pack up his life and go with him. If only because he wasn't going to lose the man again. They'd been through too much, and while he had never considered himself the settling down type, somehow he could actually imagine it with Eames.

"You're mad, you know that Arthur," Eames told him, laughing, "barking mad. And an idiot. But yes, I want you to come with me."

"Oh," was the only thing he could say, feeling the heat start to creep up his neck. How was he supposed to know that? More times than not Eames tended to be sarcastic instead of serious. Arthur had figured this was just another one of those times. "Fresh start wouldn't be so bad, and it's not like we're unfamiliar with London. Guess I could pack up my life, and move there. Again."

At one point in his long criminal life, Arthur actually had a flat in London. One he rarely used as he hated the damned city. But when he'd given up that life, he sold off that particular flat as well. Now, it seemed as if he was moving back to the city. At least this time around he had a better reason for sticking around.

 


End file.
